


SGX: Worlds of Difference

by moth2fic



Category: Stargate SG1
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-28
Updated: 2005-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 57,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A novel in which a new SG team of original characters explore the universe and their own emotions against a background of the Stargate and the exploits of SG1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Kid on the Block

**Author's Note:**

> This is Stargate fanfic in the sense that it's set in the world of Stargate Command, with the gate itself as a major player. The main team in the story are all original characters. SG1, General Hammond etc. appear in supporting roles but anyone who wants the customary pairings should stop right here. There is, however, plenty of slash/erotica, some of it NC17. You have been warned. The story begins in an alternative timeline just after Thor has appeared to America's allies and after Daniel has ascended. There are muted references to my short fic Blame Daniel.
> 
> Many thanks are due to my beta readers, fledge, alphekka_alpha, margaret_r and especially kat_lair, who all bullied me and the rough draft into shape in the nicest possible way. Thanks also to rene_starko for translations to and from Russian. Any remaining faults are mine.
> 
> My betas warned me that an original novel set firmly in a fanfic universe might attract very few readers. I wrote it anyway.
> 
> I have gone with the original 'publication' date but parts of the story have been tweaked since then. I must also apologise if I have missed any of the formatting changes - the sort that lead to apparent errors that could well have crept in during the story's travels between various computers, various word processing programs, LJ, my website, etc. I have done my best.

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**SGX. ** **Part 1. In which our hero penetrates a new continent.**

 

**1.** ** New kid on the block.**

 

When Adam reached the gatehouse, the men on guard might have been forgiven for voting the newcomer least likely to: win friends, influence people, fit in, become part of that close knit society.

 

The young man slouching towards them with the white-blond hair and the ash-pale skin would have agreed with them wholeheartedly. Only his green eyes could have told the observers he wasn't an albino, and they were hidden behind a pair of reactolite lenses that seemed in their blackness to close out the world. He was lugging a backpack and a guitar, both of which he dumped wordlessly at their feet. His clothes marked him as a civilian and a foreigner to boot - nothing obvious, just a slight difference in tone, in style.

 

"Fenwick." The clipped accent said British and a quick glance at the day's instructions showed that one Adam Fenwick was indeed an imminent arrival and that this probably  _was_ Adam Fenwick, given that a military escort had brought him from the airport. They still went through all the procedures laid down to protect the base. Passport, visa, the glasses removed (and replaced), work permit reviewed, eye and finger prints scanned, a few questions and they were through. He was silent throughout.

 

"We need to keep your gear here for now, sir," the duty sergeant explained, heaving the pack and the instrument behind him. "Just go on down till you come to the elevators and someone will meet you. You're expected," he finished unnecessarily. Adam grinned and headed for the tunnel. The grin might have softened his face, making him look almost boyish, but the eyes remained hidden so the effect was lessened. The guards made faces at each other as he left them.

 

"Not the usual intake," muttered Junior Airman Robson.

"Typical cold Brit," responded his superior, then turned to face the next truckload , men returning from leave. His comment was only true in terms of Adam's nationality, but at that point, even Adam would not have contradicted him.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

As his glasses sensed the gloom and lightened, Adam looked around with interest. If this was to be his new home, he wanted to know as much as possible about it. He waited by the lifts, contemplating his descent into the bowels of America. This seemed to be the story of his life and yet he'd never intended to be a cave dweller. In fact, his happiest hours had been spent up on the Roman wall, the north wind in the grass and his hair, and the curlews screaming overhead. If pressed, he'd have described himself as an outdoor type - not sporting, he wasn't particularly social or competitive - but definitely  _outdoor_ , with walking listed as one of his hobbies and bird watching as another.

 

His career had played tricks on him. After university, he'd used his computer science degree in the service of the dull but worthy Department of Pensions in Newcastle, living at home in Kenton, to his mother's delight, and spending his leisure hours in the wilder parts of Northumberland. He was too good at his job. Fast-tracked by the ever observant mandarins, he was whisked first to Whitehall and later to GCHQ in Cheltenham, where he spent his working hours a long way from the sun or the rain. His pay didn't allow him to visit home often, but he'd had the Malvern Hills for compensation, with Elgar at full blast on his Walkman, a counterpoint to the loneliness and the silence.

 

Gradually, more and more overtime was demanded from the man who could fix any bug, cure any virus, and his weekends were whittled away until he felt like a mole, a creature of the underground. His naturally pale skin turned alabaster in the muted lighting of the complex. Immersed in work, he forgot how to socialise, altogether.

 

When they asked him if he was willing to take a secondment to the USA, to work alongside their military in a project of international importance, he was inclined to refuse. He hated the Americans, with their brash politicians and their gung-ho politics, and he didn't want to work abroad. But his section head argued and pleaded and encouraged until he agreed, partly to turn off her pestering. So here he was, two lots of official secrets acts signed, work permit in his passport (which still hadn't impressed immigration - it had taken hours to get through) most of his worldly goods in the guardhouse, heading for the underground again.

 

He was whisked straight through to General Hammond, greeted genially, given a whistle stop tour of the facility and shown his office. He registered a blurred impression of lifts and corridors and rooms full of technology, and a vast cavern with what looked like the entrance to another tunnel - a circular door, with odd decorations around it, which jarred in the plainness of the rest of the surroundings. He shook a few hands and heard a few names; none of them stayed with him. He was still reeling from the flights and the time difference and the recurrent grilling. Hammond took pity on him, sensing that not much of the welcome was sinking in. This young man was exhausted.

 

"Go home! There's an apartment in your name just up the road from here. There should be essentials - coffee, milk, bread. Get some sleep and we'll go through your formal briefing tomorrow. Glad to have you on board."

A rather dazed Adam found himself shepherded, by a young airman, back to the sunshine and a flat that indeed had essentials in the fridge, but more important had a bed. Slinging his gear into a corner, he didn't even bother to wash. He crashed into oblivion and slept for ten hours.

 

……………………………….

 

The phone woke him. He couldn't think where he was or what was shrilling at him. When he realised and grabbed it, he croaked, "Fenwick ," and was treated to a half shocked, half amused female voice asking him if he knew what time it was. Apparently he was late for the briefing.

 

As he showered, he wondered whether to apologise and decided against it. They'd dragged him half way round the world for their own purposes, dumped him in a soulless flat in a soulless block in a godforsaken clutter of shops and dwellings that didn't even merit the name town in his book. They had questioned him over and over again about his right to be here, just as though he wouldn't prefer not to be here at all. And now, without giving him a chance to adjust to being in this foreign place, they wanted him underground, at work, and at once. Apologies were not in order.

 

The gate personnel had changed since yesterday and he had to go through the identification rigmarole all over again. This time he had no luggage to leave, just the same impression of coldness and colourlessness that had prompted yesterday's comments. And this time the walk to the lifts was less interesting and the wait more frustrating. Presumably he'd get some sort of pass? They couldn't intend to send an escort every day, even for a foreign national.

 

Sure enough, he was ushered into an office near the bottom of the shaft, where he was given a name-badge. It was like a credit card, with an identification chip and a barcode that he was assured would give him access to the entire facility - apparently he was to be privy to all their secrets, whatever they were - and it was designed to fix on a uniform collar. The badge giver eyed his collarless jacket with distaste. Somehow, he managed to fix the thing to his shirt pocket, and was told to join the general in the briefing room.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Half an hour later, Adam felt as though he hadn't had those ten hours of sleep. His thoughts were whirling. Did his supervisers in England  _know_ what they'd sent him to? Apparently the Prime Minister and the foreign secretary did. Anyone else? Doubtful - it was a need to know situation and only the heads of a few important governments now knew. And they had been asked to choose, from among their own citizens, people who could contribute to the project whilst giving their own nations a sense of involvement. The pentagon had sent out a list of possible talents to be recruited, and someone's eye had fallen on Adam. And now Adam, after signing yet another set of documents, was learning the truth about the Stargate and the teams and the huge base needed to keep them in action and the part he could play in maintaining the software needed to run the base. 

 

Yes, the US had plenty of computer whiz kids like him - most of them earning a fortune on the west coast - and the military had more, but there was an opening and they needed a Brit and the Brits wanted in, so here he was, and again, welcome aboard.

 

………………………………………..

 

 

 

 

Adam looked disbelievingly at his watch. It seemed to be breakfast time in this zone and at least lunchtime at home, and he'd already done a day's work just reading and trying to assimilate the documents he'd been given. Stargates, wormholes, aliens good and bad, he felt drunk with the craziness of it. He also felt alarmingly hungry and thirsty and realised he hadn't eaten since the plane, yesterday, although he remembered glugging copious quantities of water at the flat. He set out for the canteen or whatever they called it, a file under his arm to be read while he ate - his normal practice.

 

He took at least three wrong turns until someone took pity on him and directed him to a counter that seemed to serve nightmare sized versions of an all day breakfast, and coffee by the gallon. Settled at a Formica topped table with a good view of plastic coated walls and little else, he picked up his fork and opened his file.

 

"This seat taken?" Aroused from the notes by the deep caramel tones of the speaker, he gestured vaguely that she should sit. And returned to his reading. Caramel voice was having none of it.

"You new around here? Haven't never seen you before."

Adam resisted the impulse to comment on the double negative and considered his reply.

"Yes, I'm new, and I'm trying to speed read my way into a full understanding of this place. Name's Adam, by the way," and he glanced down at his file, trying to underline his need to return to it.

 

"All work and no play makes Adam a dull boy. Besides, it's not all in the files - there are people down here too. I'm Sergeant Vaughan, Sharon to you, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Adam." She was a stunning black girl, carved out of polished ebony, with an engaging smile, and a uniform that proclaimed her a sergeant. Adam sighed and shook the hand held out across the table. He met her smile with his grin - and suddenly felt that maybe she was right and he ought, in fact, to start getting to know his new colleagues. Well, it wouldn't be too much of a chore if they were all as friendly as this one. Not to mention the added bonus of her looks.

 

"I'm here to work on the computers," he told her, and nearly added that he was from England, but realised in time that his voice would give his origins away.

"One of our new foreign friends? What do you think of it all?" Her manner invited confidences and he told her how he felt - confused, disorientated, tired and hungry. He was glad he stopped before he added hostile to the list, because she seemed genuinely sympathetic.

 

"They got you at work on your first day? Man, that's rough. Haven't you seen anything of the countryside yet? Or had a chance to go shopping?" Adam shook his head. Not that he had any desire to go shopping. But Sharon was talking about taking him to a mall, helping him choose stuff to personalise his apartment, spend his first month's pay in advance on things to help him settle in. Then she was asking about his family in England. Did he know London? How long had he worked there? She had a cousin in Croydon - maybe he knew the street where she lived? Did he have a sweetheart?" The questions were endless and mercifully she didn't seem to expect too many answers.

 

Adam considered. Did he have a "sweetheart"? Did Emma count? They'd been "going out" with each other since his first year at Manchester, both interested in walking and birdwatching, and linked together by their Tyneside origins. Like him, she'd returned to Newcastle to work, but as a junior doctor at the busy RVI she had little time for Adam and he found he preferred it that way.

 

Emma was his "girlfriend" if he needed to escape anyone's questions about his love life, his companion on occasional trips to the hills or the coast, and since Cheltenham, a kind of penfriend (by email rather than snail mail), one he would miss, like an old comfortable coat. Someone to take to Christmas parties when he went home for the break. Someone to talk about but not to think about too much. As he told Sharon about his girl back in England, it suddenly dawned on him that he'd failed to contact either Emma or his mother. He swore at his idiocy and Sharon was duly told the problem and duly expressed the same shock they'd no doubt be feeling. Women!

 

Why was it that he could travel to and from work every day without anyone turning a hair, and as soon as he went back to Cheltenham from Newcastle, or crossed the Atlantic, they made him promise to let them know he'd arrived safely. Which he hadn't. Let them know, that is. And now he couldn't, until he got back to the flat that night. Communications with the outside world were not part of Base Regulations. Inwardly fuming at his own forgetfulness, he turned back to Sharon and asked her what her role in the facility was. He doubted the evidence of his ears when she said she was a member of a Stargate team.

 

She told him proudly about her struggle to get where she was today from her beginnings in Columbine, that place of high school notoriety. Unemployment had not appealed to young Sharon and she had joined the forces fully aware that she had little choice. But the life suited her, and she soon made sergeant and then got this plum assignment, a reward for hard training, above average weapons skills and a cheerful open-mindedness that had impressed the interviewers. She remembered her own amazement on finding out what she'd volunteered for, and told Adam that by the end of the month he'd be taking little green men in his stride.

 

"Not that you're likely to see any, stuck here on base with the computers," she assured him, laughing when he looked round the room quickly. "And most of them are neither green or little," she added.

Adam half grinned in return, not sure whether he was being teased as a new boy or not. Then he looked up as a large black man, with a bald head and a tattoo of some sort above his eyes, took a seat at the next table and raised one massive hand to greet Sharon.

"Hey, Teal'c, come and meet Adam," she said, and the man gave a slight bow, looking keenly at Adam, who smiled and said hi.

"You are our new computer expert from Britain, I believe?" asked the man, in a deep cultured voice that definitely didn't come from Columbine.

"Yes, Adam Fenwick," he replied. He took in the uniform and added, "Do I gather you're another member of a Stargate team?" Teal'c inclined his head. "I am indeed," he said. "Welcome to Stargate, Adam Fenwick," and Adam suddenly felt that he  _was _ welcome in this strange and disturbing place and that everything would be all right.

 

 

 

 


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

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**2.Curiouser and curiouser**

 

Teal'c ate quickly and efficiently, all the time keeping up a light banter with Sharon about missions and wormholes and Goa’uld and Tokra and someone called Daniel who appeared to have attained sainthood. Adam just listened, trying to make sense of it all, but without the confidence to join in or ask questions. He knew all too well from his previous postings how careful the new boy needed to be. He didn't want to be marked out as ignorant or arrogant or desperate or any combination of those. And he wanted to learn. Anything he could glean about this strange new world would help him, not only socially, but also in his work, which at the moment mattered more. Although he was not honestly here by choice, he was determined to give a good account of himself and uphold the honour of his country.

 

Now they were talking about some little  _grey_ men with names straight out of Viking myth, and he had a hard time not to choke into his coffee. He hadn't reached the Asgard in his files yet. If they were there. If this wasn't an attempt to tease him. But no one was even smiling and then Teal'c got up to leave. 

"Good day to you, Adam Fenwick." A short nod accompanied his crisp goodbye and he strode out of the room.

 

" _He's_ one of  _them_ , of course," said Sharon, to Adam's consternation. One of whom? Sharon was black so she could hardly be referring to Teal'c's colour, although her comment echoed so many he'd heard in England. Nor could she mean senior management, another familiar echo, if the uniform had been anything to go by. "Like that one," she added, tilting her head towards a nondescript young man just seating himself in a corner with a glass of milk and a thick book.

 

"One of  _what_ , for heavens' sake?" he asked.

"Aliens." Her reply was so casual, so unconcerned, that for a moment he didn't take it in.

"How do you know? I mean…" He stammered to a halt. Now she  _was_ laughing. 

"Oh, you can't tell by looking at them but we all know their history. Maybe I should have let you carry on reading after all!" And with that she excused herself, with a reminder about a shopping trip in the near future, leaving Adam to collect his scattered wits and his unread notes and return to his office.

 

By mid afternoon (his body and his brain insisted it was actually long past bedtime) he had assimilated most of the summarised history of the project and was beginning to understand what he'd inadvertently got into. Apparently his government, at a senior level, had been made aware of the Stargate  _and _ had met Thor of the Asgard, and that was why he was here. There might be more of his compatriots soon - it just so happened that the computer field was the first that had matched a candidate and an opening so neatly.

 

He was going to have to call it a day. He was really too tired to take any more in. As he tidied his desk, the pager they'd given him sounded. A Sergeant Siler needed his help in the Gateroom.

 

Again, he got lost on his way and swore. How was he ever going to get used to these corridors? An amused but helpful airman showed him the right direction and whispered a much needed explanation of the light codes governing the labyrinth, and a rueful admission that all newcomers faced the same disorientation, which amused the old-timers greatly. From somewhere his saviour produced a map - much like the ones of the London Underground he was so familiar with, and confided that he was fairly new himself and remembered how it felt.

 

 

Grateful and indignant in equal measures, Adam found the Gateroom without much trouble - and sorted the problem on automatic pilot, unaware of the gaping faces of the men who had asked for his help.

"Should be OK now," he said. "Just call me again if there's any trouble. But not today - I'm almost asleep on my feet."

 

So he called at the canteen for a cup of coffee - it would have to be strong and black to get him home in one piece. There were two men in uniform chatting at a table but they didn't look his way. He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he hadn't brought anything to read and he was the only other person in the room. Then he realised it didn't matter - they weren't speaking English, or anything he recognised, and then it dawned on them - he'd seen those uniforms before, and besides, the files had mentioned other countries' involvement. Russian was not a language he'd ever thought to need, so he could listen in forever and learn nothing. As he left, one of them looked up and smiled, a long, slow, lazy smile that said hey, we know who you are; you're a foreigner, like us. Adam was too tired to respond with anything other than a quick grin, but he hoped he might get to know them, and the other non-Americans, another day.

 

……………………………………………………

 

 

The flat was awful. Truly awful. It had about as much character as a cornflake packet. Adam doubted if Sharon's shopping expertise would make any difference. The rooms were square, the windows were square, the building was square, the paint was bland inside and out and the whole thing reeked of what he'd always thought of as America - brashness, newness, and a lack of personality. He probably wasn't being fair - Sharon seemed to have quite a lot of personality for a start - but he was tired and grumpy and a long way from home. Speaking of which…

He unpacked and plugged in his laptop and began an email to Emma.

 

"Dear Emma,

I have arrived safely. I am settling into my flat and my job. I am sorry I didn't contact you earlier but I have been very tired with the time change and so on and have already started work."

 

(What else could he say? I have met a girl called Sharon. There are aliens eating at the next table. America doesn't appeal to me.)

 

"I hope you are well. I will try to write next weekend.

Love, Adam."

 

Hardly worth the time and effort, not to mention genius, people had poured into the Internet. But a lot of communication was probably equally banal, equally uninformative. Anyway, he pressed the send button and turned to his mobile phone. His mother didn't do email.

 

She was relieved, he thought, to hear he'd arrived and settled in. (Had he, he wondered?) She rambled on about the miracles of phones that let her speak to him across so many miles of ocean and told him he sounded as if he was in the next room. She begged him to phone each week at a prearranged time - which proved difficult, what with her bridge and her pub quiz, her friend Stella, and the time difference.

 

They settled on late Sunday evenings and he promised to do his best and hoped his voice didn't betray his irritation. Then she pointed out how late it was and how she'd been watching the end of Newsnight, as if he should have had the Radio Times in front of him, and checked. He was seriously glad to ring off.

 

Two women contacted and dealt with - a weight off his mind, until next time. He stuck bold notes in his diary in case he forgot when next time should be. And switched on CNN, mindlessly absorbing news until he should feel it really wasn't too early to go to bed.

 

He fell sleep on the couch and dreamed of aliens - blue, grey, green, black, pouring out of a round hole in his wall and shooting at him, then woke groggy and uncomfortable to find the news focussed on a war somewhere. It seemed unreal, as if the aliens in his dream had more relevance to him, and he got ready for bed pondering the change that his first day had wrought in his perceptions of the world. He slept instantly and soundly. This time he didn't dream.

 

………………………………………………………..

 

 

The alarm actually woke him next morning - possibly because he'd set the mobile to vibrate and it was under his pillow - and he felt almost human. Today might be an almost normal day, like those he was used to in Cheltenham, though he grinned wryly as he imagined aliens in the picture postcard English town. Even human looking ones.

 

He decided to get breakfast at work - it seemed a cheap enough option, if he'd worked out the currency correctly, and would save him buying stuff in until he'd worked out what he would really need. A big shopping trip loomed - or an intensive session with a new supermarket online. First attempts were always a pain; Adam did not worship at the shopping god's altar. Maybe Sharon would help. He realised he was hanging a lot on her friendly welcome - she probably had more than enough to do without nannying him. For all he knew she had a family and a five bedroomed house to care for.

 

Sharon was in the canteen when he arrived, and waved him over. She was talking to the Russians he'd seen yesterday, and introduced him quickly.

"Adam, this is Niki, Nikita. He's one of the Russians who've just arrived - like you. Only he's a weapons expert. And this is Major Vladimir Tolstoy, another of them. He's a member of my team."

They shook hands, more formally than the Americans, and the one called Niki, who'd smiled at him yesterday, smiled again.

"I think you are foreigner like us. You are Great Britain, yes?" Adam had a vision of himself shaped like a map and draped with a union jack but replied quite seriously,

"Yes, I'm a British import, and I've only been here since Monday evening so I'm still feeling strange." Both men smiled and the major spoke.

"We non-Americans must stick together, yes? And we make sure you are not strange for long time, Brit. Already you are having three friends." Adam was surprised. He hadn't met any Russians previously and the stereotype was not of laid back amiable colleagues. But he was pleased at being included so easily, and settled down to enjoy his breakfast in company - a truly unusual event. 

 

They chatted about their jobs, and about their lodgings - Niki and Vlad, as Niki referred to him, had an apartment together that sounded similar to Adam's but with two bedrooms and a bigger freezer. They were equally unimpressed, and when Sharon reminded Adam they had a shopping trip planned for the weekend they clamoured to come too. Maybe she could find them

somewhere to buy pictures and cushions and crockery to personalise the spaces they'd been allotted. This was turning into an expedition but Sharon seemed perfectly capable of marshalling her troops and they agreed to meet on Saturday morning outside Adam's apartment block. That decided, they also arranged to meet for lunch and departed for work.

 

Adam was stunned. After six months in Cheltenham he'd got to know about three colleagues apart from his immediate boss, and then only to say hello to. Here on his third day he was meeting three people for lunch and he hadn't even had to try. He couldn't even put it down to the legendary hospitality of the host country - two of them were Europeans like himself. Maybe this place would be OK after all.

 

There appeared to be a backlog of work for him to do now that he was considered to be fully briefed and settled in. Siler's admiration for his help the previous evening had been widely disseminated, so various people wanted to seek his advice and get his magic touch on their problems. The morning passed quickly, and to his relief the work was well within his capabilities. He'd dreaded finding himself badly out of step with the job specifications, a pawn in an international game of musical employees. But all was well.

 

Lunch was a riotous affair, with Vlad and Sharon recounting an incident from a recent mission, when Airman Potts, their most junior team member, had been convinced that a giant turtle type creature was an intelligent alien and spent hours talking to it on a sand bank. When it eventually slipped away into the sea without acknowledging him, Vlad had been nearly doubled over with laughter. As he'd originally encouraged Potts' belief, the younger man had been somewhat put out to hear the laughter and even more put out to find he'd been the butt of some mischievous Russian humour. Vlad laughed again at the memory.

"These Americans! Very serious people, yes Brit?" he said to Adam, who nodded but snatched a quick glance at Sharon.

"Not all of us," she commented. "Not all of us by any means."

 

Adam tended to be serious, in company, at any rate. He could never remember the punch lines of humorous stories so he never told any. He was not inclined to play jokes on others, although he was amused at the tale, and could have coped with being on the receiving end himself. In his head, a rapid succession of images like the one with the map entertained him, but he rarely shared his thoughts. This easy camaraderie was new - and fun.

 

There was a suggestion of a drinking session that evening, but he was still tired, and reeling from the newness of it all, so he postponed it till the following night. Sharon called it taking a rain check and said she'd remind him. Then it was back to work.

 

He picked up a pizza on his way home. There was a pizza parlour opposite the stop where the base minibus dropped him. Amazed at the choice of toppings he ended up with cheese and tomato, to the corresponding amazement of the girl who served him. It tasted good - fresh and crisp, with loads of topping, and he enjoyed it to the last bite.

 

Then he unpacked his guitar and tuned it carefully. It seemed to have survived the journey remarkably well - but then he supposed professional players travelled all the time with their

instruments. He started to play one of his favourites, The Sloop John B, which had been ringing round his head intermittently since he left home, but as he reached the first "I wannna go home" he realised it no longer fitted his mood and he segued effortlessly into the gypsy dance from Carmen, its wild notes mirroring his mood. Then he calmed himself with a version of Danny Boy, always a favourite since he'd read The Many Coloured Land. He needed to practise - and to keep his instrument in good condition. It had always kept him sane.

 

He checked his emails - nothing. Not that he'd expected anything but if he hadn't checked and Emma had written there'd be trouble. Although, he thought, with a lightening of mood, very long distance trouble.

 

Bed beckoned, but first he wanted to check something out. He hadn't had time before he left. Another of his leisure pursuits was participating in re-enactments of Roman military campaigns. A friend had dragged him along to a Civil War battle staged by the Sealed Knot Society, and his interest in and love for Hadrian's Wall had led him to seek out a Roman counterpart. They staged battles and invasions in Roman venues all over England and sometimes in Wales. Scotland and Ireland, of course, had no Roman history and accordingly didn't get the benefit of his group's entertainment. He'd been told there were American groups and he could scarcely credit it. Total fake, of course, but maybe something to get him out in the fresh air.

 

Sure enough, there was a list of American groups, the most prominent in Nashville, but other possibilities beckoned. He would have to buy a map. The idea of Romans USA amused him but he was intrigued, too and made a note of the sites he wanted to explore. He loved the feeling of connection with the past, the ability to act the Roman soldier, masked by a helmet and a spear, and the almost ballet like choreography of the battles. He was especially pleased to perform on or near the wall, but Nashville would do.

 

While he was online, he searched for any mention of the Stargate Project, but there wasn't a whisper. The whole thing was under wraps - safer than an Egyptian mummy in layers of secrecy and misdirection.

 

Adam switched off and headed for bed. Thoughts of tattooed aliens, laughing Russians and Romans with the accents of the Deep South whirled him to sleep. His third day was over.

 

 

 

 


	3. With Your Shield Or On It...

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**SGX: Worlds of Difference.**

 

**Part 2. In which our hero broadens his horizons**

 

**3.With your shield or on it**

 

Adam was in the gateroom, discussing possible reasons for the slow opening and closure of the iris. He was trying to get the regular staff to indulge in a little lateral thinking. Solving the problem was definitely going to need some new approaches.

 

So he was on the front line when two of SG14 came barrelling through, yelling, followed by a wild looking bunch of what could only be aliens (taller, longer-armed, bluer-eyed and redder- haired than any human ever). They were carrying weapons that seemed to be daggers, in each of their huge hands. One of the aliens was carrying what appeared to be a bundle of rags, and it was only when he heard someone shouting, "Don't shoot! For God's sake don't shoot!" that he realised the burden was in fact one of the team. And that left a fourth on the other side of the iris, making closure an academic issue.

 

Like Sergeant Siler, he'd rushed to help, despite the fact that as a civilian it was emphatically not his job. But the airforce seemed paralysed when deprived of firepower and reflex caught Adam unawares. There was a pole of some sort leaning against a wall - a piece of scaffolding by the look of it and he grabbed without thinking. It was the only pole around so he had no-one fighting at his side. He missed the square, the tortoise composed of locked shields held overhead, but his moves were sure and fluent. The pole twisted and hit, twisted and hit again, jabbed, feinted and swept in a wide arc round the enemy feet. Adam was getting into his stride.

 

One opponent left standing; the one carrying the SG team member. They circled each other warily. The alien was holding only a single dagger, but Adam couldn't risk getting too close. Daggers could be used as throwing weapons as well as striking ones. The pole was worryingly blunt. Even a plastic-tipped spear would have been better than this. And what about the others? Unlike twenty-first century "barbarians" they wouldn't stay down when hit. And he couldn't guarantee having disabled them all. Why was no one helping? Where was everybody?

 

For him everything had happened in slow motion, but for the onlookers the fight had been breathtakingly fast. Then they saw the shift of his features as he came to a decision. The alien fell forward, its knees buckling at the whack of the pole, but as it fell, the dagger reached and Adam's hand was pinned swiftly to the floor, taking him down with it. The hostage rolled, onto his rescuer, and the pair lay in an untidy heap by the bottom of the ramp.

 

At which point Adam saw stars and passed out.

 

………………………………..

 

Vlad and Niki came to visit him in the infirmary and filled in the rest of the story. All down, none dead, and the prisoners were talking. SG14 had unwittingly offended some local custom. One of them had stepped into a place of worship wearing shoes. The elders had demanded his arrest and trial for blasphemy, and the team had learnt that the punishment for blasphemy was genital mutilation. Attempts to talk had broken down. Hence the fight and the chase. The hostage would have joined his team-mate at the trial.

 

The aliens were being persuaded to send one of their number home to release the prisoner - a mixture of diplomatic skill and the offer of medical know-how seemed to be working. Meanwhile, one of them had explained Adam's collapse. The daggers were poisoned.

 

However, the poison was easily identified and an antidote had been administered. That and the initial slash explained the immobility of Adam's right hand under a mound of dressings. Which was good to

know. Equally good to know was that his new friends were highly impressed with his fighting skills, as was General Hammond, who was busy raking over the coals all the airforce personnel who hadn't gone to his aid.

 

"You are beserker, I think, Brit," said Niki, his eyes twinkling. Adam grinned, self-conscious but flattered. Vlad said nothing, just looked at him as though he hadn't seen him before, as though he was some new species, like the aliens he'd fought.

"But our drinks tonight are stopped," said Niki. He frowned and looked at Vlad. "Cancelled," said Vlad. "Yes, cancelled," amended Niki. "The lady doctor, she do not let you to drink." He looked sad for a moment then brightened. "We shall drink for you, my friend. We shall sacrifice ourselves and have your share of the vodka, yes?" Adam felt almost relieved. He'd never liked vodka, but he had looked forward to the evening. Now it would be spent lying still, doing nothing, and getting very, very bored. But not drunk.

 

His next visitor was General Hammond, who had heard he was conscious. He praised and scolded in equal measures. It had been, of course, a heroic deed. And Adam was a brilliant fighter. But civilians were not supposed to rush to the rescue. They were supposed to need rescuing, or cheer on the rescuers, but taking up arms? Or scaffold poles in this case? Hardly! But of course no one could deny that Adam had saved lives - and possibly Sergeant Hooper's balls…..and how did Adam come to be able to knock out six aliens with a scaffold pole anyway?

 

Adam explained, and the general was fascinated to hear about the Roman fighting techniques, and even more fascinated by the description of Hadrian's Wall. He wanted to hear all about Vindolanda, where the visitor could wander through a simulacrum of a Roman camp, complete with sounds and moving figures. He listened to the tales of high, windswept Housesteads, where the soldiers had patrolled the last outpost of the Empire under a foreign sky. And he was amazed at the American connection. He went away shaking his head. "Nashville," Adam heard him mutter. "Nashville."

 

Sharon brought Teal'c with her and the big man wanted to talk seriously about fighting and poles and strategies. Adam promised to train with him when he was pronounced fit, provided they could train in the open air. Sharon said she'd come and referee, but the looks Adam and Teal'c gave her stopped that idea in its infancy.

 

"This is not a game, Sharon," Teal'c admonished, and Adam concurred. "Some knocks will be inevitable if we are to hone our skills," added the Jaffa. "But our poles will not be poisoned," he finished, and with that, Sharon had to be satisfied.

 

Dr. Fraiser was definitely *not* satisfied. Her patient needed rest and he wasn't getting it. She swept the visitors out like a hen herding chicks, except that she was the tiny chick beside the statuesque Sharon and the big alien. They went, however, without a murmur.

 

………………………………….

 

 

Adam was allowed back to work the following day, with his hand in a sling contraption that kept getting in the way. Keyboards didn't favour one handed operators and the military computers didn't seem to have reached voice recognition yet. He knew his guitar would be out of action for at least a week, too, and as for getting to a re-enactment, forget it.

 

Sharon tried to cheer him up with a description of the nearest shopping mall. Vlad and Niki, thoroughly hung over, explained just how much vodka they'd been forced to consume on his behalf, Niki in particular. And General Hammond suggested he might like to join in some military training sessions when he was better - as an instructor as well as a trainee. He grunted approval of the planned sessions with Teal'c. And Teal'c introduced him to the rest of SG1, Teal'c's team. 

 

He instinctively liked Colonel O'Neill and felt instant admiration for Major Carter and her Renaissance Man (or rather Woman) grasp of so many disparate skills. Jonas didn't make any impression on him at all, and even the knowledge that here was another alien failed to spark any interest. The man was obviously competent, but equally obviously bland, lacking the kind of personality that made Jack and Sam stand out from the crowd. They were all friendly. They all alternately joshed him and praised him for his feat with the pole, and they all seemed likely to become friends. Another new situation for Adam Fenwick.

 

……………………………………………..

 

Sunday……

 

" Dear Emma,

I have settled in and feel quite at home. A colleague took three of us new guys on a shopping trip to what they call a mall, to buy stuff for our flats. The flats are provided with basic furnishings"

 

(a dedicated minimalist would be ashamed)

 

"and I have bought some cushions and pictures to cheer the place up."

 

(two huge floor cushions to give a choice of seating other than the couch, and a set of prints of Antarctica or somewhere and a sort of still life with pebbles and seaweed)

 

"The mall was a bit like the Gateshead Metro Centre but not as big and not, thank goodness, as crowded. You would have liked it. I have had a good first week, with no problems,"

 

(apart from seven-foot aliens poisoning my hand, that is…but that, of course, is an official secret)

 

" and last night a couple of the people I work with came round for a drink."

 

(It was a totally riotous party and he had woken up this morning lying across Niki, who was in turn sprawled out on one of the cushions. He'd thought his legs might be missing but it turned out Vlad was stretched across them and was heavier than he looked. Jack had commandeered the couch and Sam was curled up on the other cushion. Jonas appeared to have taken possession of his bed. No one else was in evidence. His own alcoholic preferences - Belgian lager or Chardonnay- did not seem to have been catered for, judging by the empties in the kitchen, so he wasn't sure why his head was thumping and spinning. Could they *really* have drunk that much vodka?)

 

" I shall ring Mum tonight but really I haven't any news. Except that I'm fine"

 

(now!)

 

"Love, Adam

 

P.S. Someone gave me another picture as a house-warming present, so the walls are quite full."

 

He pressed send and looked across at the picture in question. Vlad had handed him a huge package and muttered something about it suiting the occasion. "Is you, Brit," he had said. Then he and Niki in turn had kissed him on both cheeks, which must be a continental custom - like footballers and Frenchmen. It was a large framed poster of an Eastern Orthodox Icon , all golds and rich colours. St. George, presumably. A young knight in mediaeval armour, blonde hair shining (where was his helmet?) held a long silver pole beneath which crouched a sulky oriental dragon, all red scales and green claws. It now graced the wall opposite the couch and Adam decided that he liked it - very much.

 

 

 

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	4. Here be Dragons

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**4.HERE BE DRAGONS**

 

Colonel Somerfield reviewed his team. The Russian major, hung over as usual, slouched in a totally un-American attitude beside Sergeant Vaughan, whose heavy-lidded eyes suggested she, too, had enjoyed the weekend. Airman Potts stood smartly to attention, his uniform pressed and clean, his eyes vacant but glowing. Airman Potts enjoyed inspections, his one chance to shine. Bob Somerfield sighed. As a well brought up Baptist from a conventional and serious minded farming family, he knew he ought to disapprove of Vlad and Sharon and give praise to Ron Potts. But he also knew that when the chips were down he'd rather have the dissolute major and the lively sergeant beside him any day. How Airman Potts had been chosen for a Stargate team was beyond him, but he had, and he was in  _his _ team and they would all have to make the best of it. Jack O'Neill had suggested leaving him behind somewhere, by accident, although Jack would have been the first to go back for him. Teal'c had offered to help train him but had given up in baffled bemusement. Bob sometimes thought Potts was a Pentagon plant, sent to spy on the Russian. Maybe he'd had extensive training in acting dim. But as the weeks went by, this theory held less appeal and Somerfield realised Potts was simply a cross he had to bear. 

 

Vlad was talking about a party they'd been to - some house warming affair for a civilian. Sharon's eyes sparkled as she turned to her colleague.

"That picture you gave him was great! Did he like it? Has he hung it up yet?"

"Yes, in the lounge. Is looking good - a portrait of Adam, I am thinking. With a scaffold pole, yes?"

"Well, those guys didn't breathe fire but their hair *was* red," Sharon giggled, and Bob realised they were talking about Adam Fenwick, the computer geek who'd startled everyone with the pole act.

"You people seem to have taken up with this Fenwick guy," he said, and Sharon nodded.

"He's nice - quiet and quite friendly." She looked at Vlad for confirmation and the Russian nodded vigorously.

"Is different," he offered. "Is not normal."

"I think you mean usual," said Sharon.

"OK, usual," agreed Vlad. "And I am liking his hair."

"His  _hair_ ?" Sharon was startled.

"Yes, is like St. George in picture. That's why I buy him. And the pole of course." And with that, Vlad turned to inspect his weapons and check his pack harness.

 

They were going on a routine exploratory mission. Preliminary reports told them the planet they were going to had no sentient beings (though that kind of report could never be taken for granted), but had a lot of rocks, rocks that might contain minerals that could be invaluable to Earth. If the report was right, and if the rocks did prove useful, robot miners could be sent in to harvest the ore. Only small quantities would be garnered. No one wanted to alert the general population and business communities to off world discoveries, but some minerals would be useful in the development of weapons and spaceships by Stargate Command. Bob still got a shiver down his back at the word "spaceship". It took him back to his teens, to Startrek episodes and Space Invaders games. Now it was an everyday reality, and he couldn't even tell his wife and kids about it. Not that Martha would be interested, anyway. She'd say, "Yes, honey," and get on with whatever she was baking or sewing for the next church fair. But he wished he could tell the kids.

 

Adam saw them go. He'd come down to check out the speeded up iris operations and watched his friends walk through the wall of liquid nothing with a slight shudder. Rather them than him. And rather not them. But that was their job, and his was to make theirs easier and more efficient. But he would miss their company at lunch.

 

Niki was in the canteen and so were most of SG1. Not Teal'c. He was meditating or something. Better for you than lunch, apparently. Niki was missing Vlad. The pair hadn't known each other until their flight from Moscow, but sharing a flat had brought them together and they now shared friends as well. But Vlad was close to his fellow team members and Niki was finding the other weapons developers a cliquish crowd, not hostile, just not particularly friendly to foreigners. He greeted Adam with obvious pleasure. Could they go out for a drink that evening? Adam felt cautious. His head hadn't really recovered yet. Russians were known to be great drinkers - something to do with the climate and the dark winters, he believed. Not to mention the availability of vodka. Sam appeared to feel the same way and suggested they all eat out. That sounded good - a meal would let them pace the drinking, or even back off without occasioning comment. Niki seemed happy to agree and they arranged to meet after work.

 

SG1 enjoyed mixing with other teams. It helped to bring them back to earth and it was usually interesting to swap ideas and experiences with other gate travellers. The official reports tended to be on the dry side. Their own included.

Apart from some medical staff, they had had comparatively little contact with civilians until Niki and then Adam joined the base.Jonas, and his predecessor, Daniel, didn't count. The Europeans were like a breath of fresh air, entirely different from their American colleagues in experience, outlook and temperament. Niki, of course, had been introduced by Vlad, but Teal'c and Sharon had found the English computer guy and brought him into the circle.

 

Dinner was good. They ate Chinese and ordered a banquet, loads of courses of delicious food that kept them occupied and satisfied all evening. Adam was amazed. He admitted he'd never had a banquet before. His occasional meals out

with Emma had been for just the two of them and sweet and sour pork was about the extent of Emma's sense of adventure. He loved the shredded duck they rolled in pancakes, adding their own sauce, and crispy seaweed to taste. Niki was pleasantly surprised too. Chinese cuisine wasn't popular in Leningrad, where he lived, and he tended to equate Oriental with Eastern Russian. They drank lager, quite sparingly, to the relief of most of them, but Niki's eyes were sad when the waiter claimed the restaurant didn't have any vodka.

 

"What you are drinking at home, Brit?" he asked Adam. The nickname seemed to have stuck, and Adam wondered what would happen when and if other Englishmen arrived.

"Warm beer?" suggested Jack

Adam told them his preferences. Sam approved wholeheartedly.

"Emma is your girl? Your affianced? Yes?" continued Niki.

"My girl, yes. Fiancée, no. Not yet, and maybe not ever," said Adam, surprising even himself with his answer. Everyone had assumed, for years now, that he and Emma would marry, but he realised with a start that it was unlikely, and even slightly distasteful. She was, in many ways, more like a sister. Certainly just a good friend.

 

Niki was drinking two lagers to everyone else's one. He had reached a stage of pleasant semi-inebriation. The others were far more aware of it than he was himself.

"Vlad is missing," he informed them and when he got puzzled stares, amended, "He is missing me." More odd looks so Niki tried again. "No, I am missing Vlad. My house are empty. Vlad, I think he is missing St. George." All eyes turned to Adam, who found himself blushing, confused and amused at the same time.

"My picture?" he asked. "I thought he bought it for me. Was it his?"

"Yes, picture of you. With pole. He buy you. Is liking you."

"Like me? Well, I suppose the hair's the right colour, and I did thrash about with a pole," admitted Adam.

"Is like you. Is *liking* you. So is buying." Niki sat back with the air of a job well done, unaware of the effect he'd had on his audience.

 

Adam decided to ignore the entire conversation. The amused looks were embarrassing but were also stupid. Obviously the Russians liked him. They'd bought him the picture, after all. Well, Vlad had.

 

When they left, towards midnight, Niki was reeling and Adam volunteered to take him home.

"Our apartment blocks are almost next door." He waved away offers of help. Somehow he managed to pry Niki's keys out of his pocket, and manhandle him up the stairs. He dumped him on one of the beds and tugged his shoes off.

"Go home, Brit," Niki mumbled. "Is not safe here. Here be dragons." And Adam couldn't decide if he meant America, Stargate Command or the Russians' flat.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. ...to boldly go...

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**5.…to boldly go…**

 

The Goa'uld could have told them.

 

If there's an apparently empty planet, and there's a stargate, there's a reason. Not usually a good one.

 

It had been called Sahara, or an approximation, by the people the Goa'uld had settled there, but it had been abandoned when the physical difficulties proved intractable and the cost of getting the ores outweighed the cost of keeping the settlement viable. Mile after mile of sand flowed round rocky outcrops, over an entire world. The rocks contained minerals, true, but the movement of the sand was constantly eroding them.

 

The moon created tides but there was little or no water. Sand tides ebbed and flowed, altering the terrain as they went. Sometimes one rock stood above the desert, sometimes another. Buildings simply didn't last. Nor did populations. The lunar cycle was long - six months. The short probes could not have predicted the problems.

 

Vlad was walking slightly behind the others as they left one outcrop and headed for another, sampling equipment at the ready. His mouse-brown hair, barely within the tolerances of regulation length, licked his face in the slight breeze. The climate was warm and although clouds hid the sun, the sky was bright. Everything had gone according to plan and this would be the last sample before their return. Vlad enjoyed the multiplicity of tasks that differentiated Stargate travel from ordinary soldiering. He enjoyed being with Stargate Command altogether. Meeting people from other countries was almost as exciting as seeing different planets. He felt sorry for the Russian team, who kept themselves to themselves and looked down on newcomers like him, scattered in multinational teams. They were missing a lot.

 

He was daydreaming, remembering the party on Saturday, the look on Adam's face when he saw the St. George picture, and the pleasure of waking up among friends on Sunday. So he didn't notice the actual moment when the sand moved.

 

It ebbed strongly, with a strange sucking noise, but by the time they heard that it was too late. Bob, Sharon and Ron went slipping and sliding, nothing to grab, nothing to hold, down an immense slope till a buried rock, a mere hiccup in the terrain, stopped their descent, leaving them at the foot of a sheer cliff, breathless and shaken. Bob had landed on Potts, who was more than shaken - they had all heard his ribs crack, and the pain on his face belied his claim to be all right.

 

Vlad was left at the top. He thought quickly, and stripped. His uniform, cut to shreds with his army knife, made a rope just long enough to reach his stranded teammates. He tied one end round his waist and dug his feet into the sand. He had to get them up and out - there was no time to go for help or to wait and see what would happen next. Sharon was the first to climb, and it took all his strength to hold her. Even then, he skidded forwards, the sand flaying his chest. She gasped when she saw the state he was in but immediately threw the rope back over the side, lay down and grasped his ankles, digging her own feet in. Then she yelled at him to stop. She was just, *just* able to hook her feet round a spike of rock if she inched back. It would shorten the reach of the rope, but it should still be long enough. "Potts next," she said, unnecessarily. Of course, in these circumstances, Bob would be last.

 

But it wasn't that simple. Potts had passed out. Bob stripped too, to his shorts and singlet, and cobbled together a makeshift sling. Vlad and Sharon took the strain of raising the dead weight of an unconscious man without complaint. Sharon was crying tears of stress by the time they pulled him over the lip of the cliff, but they had done it! Bob came up at last, and they hurried to the gate, Vlad and Sharon carrying Ron between them.

 

Somerfield dialled out and it was a very sober little group that stumbled back through the iris, one member unconscious, and two in varying states of undress. They had left most of the rock samples behind, preferring to carry their colleague, but it would hardly matter. Sahara would not be scheduled for another visit in the near future.

 

………………………………………………………

 

It was Vlad's turn to be in the infirmary. The damage to the whole of the front of his body looked like severe burns - in places his skin was completely missing. A gauze sheet was the only covering he could bear, but the worst thing was the advice not to mix alcohol with the antibiotics prescribed to prevent infection. He had never been a heavy drinker but toal abstinence didn’t suit either his temperament or the present circumstances.

 

Niki ignored the advice. Knowing Dr. Fraiser would confiscate anything obviously alcoholic, he emptied an orange juice carton and resealed it after filling it with vodka. When that failed (doctors weren't born yesterday) he consulted Adam and together they came up with a solution. The stuffed toy bear they presented to Vlad, with straight faces, was indeed stuffed. Its furry tummy held a strong polythene bag of drink, accessed by a straw through the creature's mouth. Vlad kissed the bear enthusiastically once Niki had whispered the secret, getting some strange looks from a passing nurse.

 

 

 

"Is Russian bear," Niki pointed out. "Of course has vodka!" They were speaking English for Adam's sake, and Vlad grinned.

"Maybe St. George is liking to kiss the bear?" he asked. Adam declined. His acquaintance with vodka was already progressing too quickly.

"Maybe Brits are never kissing bears," suggested Niki, and Vlad managed to look worried and amused at the same time.

Adam blushed. The innuendoes in their teasing were beginning to get to him, and he wasn't sure how to react. Or even if he was correct in his interpretations.

"I'm just not fond of vodka," he muttered, to an incredulous gasp from the Russians.

 

He came alone at lunchtime the next day. Niki was in a meeting, and Adam felt sorry for Vlad, lying alone and bored. The officer was in a private cubicle, probably to guard against infection although visitors were allowed and the only effect was to make his stay lonelier than it need have been. American TV was on offer but that was unlikely to appeal for long - foreign language programmes may be interesting but they are also hard work. Adam brought some grapes. He'd picked them up at the small supermarket near the flat, not sure what to bring. A refill for the bear would be difficult, magazines were like television, in the wrong language, and chocolates didn't seem appropriate. Vlad ate some of the grapes slowly, licking his lips after each fruit, and offered the bunch to Adam, who shook his head.

 

"There are too many jokes about visitors eating the gifts they've brought. I'm not going to add to them,” he said. But Vlad reached out and pushed a grape against his mouth and it would have been churlish not to accept. They continued to demolish the bunch by turns, contentedly.

 

They discussed the idea of visiting Potts, who was in the next room with a punctured lung and several broken ribs. Adam had noticed that the military seemed to mix more freely here than at home, where it was considered bad form for an officer to socialise with other ranks. He supposed it was a product of small teams, whose members had to bond to some extent for the sake of survival. Although nobody much bonded with Potts.

 

Another reason for the easy social relationships was probably the fact that no one in the infirmary here could be visited by family or outside friends. Official secrets kept them prisoners in their sickbeds, and even their nearest and dearest were unlikely to know they were ill.

 

At this point in his musings, Sharon appeared, with what looked to be a very adult magazine, a twinkle in her eye and a slight maroon blush on her dark cheeks. Vlad nearly choked on his grape and Adam doubled over laughing.

"Thank you Sharon," Vlad managed, while Adam collected himself. " Niki can be borrowing it later, I think."

 

"What about me?" asked Adam.

"No, I think I am not liking you seeing this," said Vlad , mock stern, but Sharon, indignant, told him where she had bought it, so that he could get one for himself. Adam shrugged. "I'll just look over Niki's shoulder," he promised.

"As long as you are not leaning on his shoulder," said Vlad, a sudden serious expression clouding his grey eyes.

 

Luckily, Sharon was looking at his temperature chart, and missed the exchange. She told them Colonel Somerfield was visiting Potts, who was quite depressed at the prospect of some time in bed. Bob, it seemed, had taken the unfortunate airman some mainstream magazines, and a box of chocolates with a label saying it was from all the team. They were discussing what Vlad might like. The magazine had been her own idea. Bob would never have gone along with it.

"All I want to do is to be kissing the bear," Vlad told her, and Sharon had to be let into the secret.

"And eat grapes with Adam," Vlad added, to which Sharon shook her head in puzzlement, before leaving to write up some reports.

 

Adam hesitated. He had work to do, himself. But he felt inexplicably happy in Vlad's company.

"I'll come again tomorrow," he promised. "With more grapes. Do you want any more magazines?"

"Not like that one," said Vlad grinning. " But I am thinking more grapes will be good!"

 

 

 

 


	6. New Departures

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**Part 3. In which the study of Latin is shown to be justified.**

 

**6.NEW DEPARTURES**

 

It was some weeks before SGX were all fit and ready to work. Colonel Somerfield and Sergeant Vaughan spent the time training, writing reports, and training again. In between training they visited their stricken colleagues, and took various items they thought might cheer them up.

 

Bob Somerfield was an observant man, and he soon removed Sharon's offerings to Vlad, and took them to Potts where they were better appreciated. Sharon simply assumed they were being passed around, and continued to supply Vlad with the unwanted magazines. Potts was delighted and nobody disillusioned Sharon. Niki was more aware of his friend's preferences, and brought a different magazine. This was not passed on and was hidden under the sheet whenever Sharon visited. Somerfield raised his eyebrows but decided that photographs were just that, and nothing to do with military discipline. Adam swallowed hard and pretended he hadn't seen the cover.

 

Adam had started sparring with Teal'c in earnest. Both men were enjoying the exercise and learning from each other. Teal'c endorsed Hammond's decision to use Adam as an instructor, and soon, what had been a hobby became a large part of the Englishman's life.

 

He had looked at a map of the USA and realised just how far Nashville was from Colorado Springs, but the Internet had thrown up nearer groups. One based in Colorado. He toyed with the idea of joining the Colorado Chapter of Legio IX Hispana and went so far as to download application forms. He also phoned the contact listed in Wyoming. However, when he costed the kit and the travel, and made a realistic assessment of his free time, he changed his mind. Regretfully, he backed out, but asked them to keep him informed about displays. He was sure Teal'c would enjoy watching the men demonstrate their skill with pilum and gladius. Perhaps Vlad and Niki would be interested too.

 

For himself, he would have to be content with modern weapons in a modern setting, and fresh air in the company of the alien.

 

Niki was definitely interested in the Roman displays. The Romans had never penetrated as far as Moscow, probably having more sense than Hitler or Napoleon, but the southern soviet states had all come under Roman sway or fought for their independence at one time or another. Niki had always enjoyed ancient history and was prepared to be educated and entertained.

 

Vlad fancied watching a troop of men performing, especially if some of them were going to display Adam's style of prowess with a pole. He said little, but agreed he'd be delighted to join them, once he was up and about. His skin was healing well, and was not infected. Unlike the unfortunate Potts, he would soon be out of the infirmary.

 

His release was treated as an excuse for a celebration, with vodka featuring hugely, but this time Niki made sure there was chilled white wine for Adam and for Sam. Some of the other Russians had turned up to welcome Vlad back and the air was full of their musical language. Not for the first time, Adam wished he understood it. They were in the big yard behind the apartment where Vlad and Niki lived, and had eaten a great deal of barbecued steak and hamburger. Everyone had drunk enough to be mellow. As the evening wore on the Russians formed a circle and burst into a Cossack dance, accompanying themselves with a traditional song. Afterwards, someone produced a guitar and the men continued to sing. Their songs hinted at the steppes and the forests of their homeland, and Adam found himself transported back to his own roots, and to the wall. Vlad's arm was resting casually round his shoulders as they listened to the last song die away.

 

"I think you are playing, Brit?" Vlad asked. He had seen Adam's guitar at the flat, and although many people keep instruments they can't or don't play, few take them across the Atlantic. Adam nodded. "I'd like to learn some of that stuff," he said, and Vlad slapped him on the back, grinning.

 

"You are liking Russians?" he asked, a hint of double entendre creeping somehow into his tone.

 

"I like these Russians," Adam confirmed. "Particularly their music."

 

"I think he was wanting something else," muttered Niki, who was close by. Adam pretended not to hear.

 

He was, of course, aware of the hints and had noticed the magazine. But he vaguely hoped that if he ignored it all, either it would go away or at the very least, he wouldn't have to make a decision. Because it would be the most difficult decision he had ever made.

 

********************************************

 

 

 

 

 

They all enjoyed the mock Roman battle, and respect for Adam increased when they saw the discipline and fitness needed to fight with the long, heavy pila. The men wove around each other in a balletic movement that avoided friends and threatened foes. Teal'c was fascinated and asked hundreds of questions, on their way back, not only about the techniques, but also about the Romans in general. Adam had learnt more from his beloved wall than he realised, and was able to answer to Teal'c's satisfaction and to his own. One thing they agreed, there and then, was that in future they would spar wearing packs, to simulate the weight of the armour.

 

"Daniel Jackson would have enjoyed talking to you, Adam Fenwick," Teal'c remarked. "You share his interest in ancient people."

 

"Who was this Daniel?" asked Adam. "Saint Daniel, from what I've gathered," he added.

 

And so Teal'c told him about the missing, presumed ascended, member of SG1 and in doing so filled in a number of gaps in Adam's knowledge of the Stargate Project.

 

"Not Saint Daniel," he chided gently, "Just Ascended," and with that Adam had to be as content as the rest of them.

 

"I think you are teaching me to fight with the piles," interrupted Vlad. "Pilum," corrected Adam automatically. But he didn't refuse. He would enjoy teaching his Russian friend to manoeuvre the heavy weapon and improve his balance and skill. Teal'c, too, seemed to think it was a good idea and they arranged to meet in the practice field the following day. Niki was less enthusiastic.

 

"Is good watching," he said. "I think is perhaps not so good doing." And despite some effort on Vlad's part, he refused to join the new Roman "team".

 

 

*****************************************

 

 

General Hammond was in his office, reading reports, when an incoming traveller was announced. There was no one due. Various teams were out, among them SG1 and SGX, but they had only left within the last day or so and it was supposed to be a quiet time in the gateroom.

 

SGX dialling signal, sir," Siler told him as they watched the iris. "Hope nothing's gone wrong this time…." Hammond agreed. He'd only just cleared the team for active duty after the injuries sustained on Sahara.

 

Sergeant Vaughan came through the gate alone. She seemed perfectly fit and saluted smartly before reporting.

 

"We found some very unusual artefacts, sir," she began. "They appear to be Roman, in our view, but, of course, none of us are experts." She handed the general a fragile and obviously old scroll. The writing was almost certainly a variant of Latin. "The thing is, sir, we *need* an expert," she finished somewhat unnecessarily.

 

"Yes, you do, but why didn't you simply request one?" Hammond was curious. It was unusual for a team member to return through the gate like this.

 

"Well, sir, we knew SG1 were out, which means Jonas is unavailable, and of course Daniel is no longer with us. So Vlad thought of Adam Fenwick."

 

"And Colonel Somerfield sent you back to fetch him?"

 

"Well, yes, with your permission, of course, sir. But we really think he could help, and he hasn't been through the gate before so…"

 

"Hmm. Point taken, but of course he's a civilian and we will have to ask him, not order him. Meanwhile, why haven't I heard from the colonel? "

"There's some sort of communication problem, sir. It might be on our side or yours - we don't know. Anyway, we're out of contact and the colonel thought the simplest thing was to send me, while the others set up camp. The planet seems peaceful enough, and we haven't met any "natives" yet. We're in a desert region, quite near the sea, and there *is* a river so we have fresh water…"

 

"Yes, yes, sergeant. These details can wait for your report. I'll page Fenwick and put the idea to him. From all accounts he may be just what you need. At any rate, he's well able to look after himself, so he probably can't come to much harm and he might enjoy the experience."

 

Hammond considered, while he waited for Adam to arrive. The Englishman was cleared at the highest level, had proved his physical fitness beyond doubt, and was the nearest thing they had, on base, to an expert on Rome. Of course, if the finds *were* Roman, experts aplenty could be drafted in, but for an immediate opinion…There was no evidence, to date, of any Goa'uld/Roman connection but one never knew. Besides, the British would be delighted if one of their people went through the gate at last. Though Hammond didn't envy Fenwick the inevitable debriefing.

 

Adam was hard at work when his pager bleeped. There had been a worrying silence from the teams out in the "field" and it had finally dawned on someone that maybe, just maybe, the fault lay on this side of the gate. Sure enough, there was a gremlin in the system and Adam was trying his best to eject it.

 

He immediately contacted Hammond to explain the situation and was told to give his current task priority but report to the general as soon as he reasonably could.

 

It took him over an hour.

 

Sharon was in what he had learnt to call the commissary as he passed and he did a quick double take. SGX were off world, weren't they? But he only waved and hurried on.

 

When Hammond put the proposition to him, he was excited, overwhelmed and terrified in about equal measures.

"When…?" he began.

"Now."

"But…"

"Sergeant Vaughan is here to escort you." (So that explained the glimpse of Sharon).

"But…"

"I've considered all the factors very carefully."

"I'm not really…"

"An expert? Perhaps not by international standards, but you're here and you're adequate."

"So…"

"Off you go, Mr. Fenwick. Have a pleasant trip."

"I need to…"

"No time."

"And I ought…."

"No time for that, either." And Adam was escorted firmly to the gateroom where someone threw him a standard pack and Sharon joined him on the ramp.

"You have the right, as a civilian and a foreign national, to refuse this mission," Hammond intoned quietly, but the iris was already opening and Adam found himself shepherded through by Sharon.

 

Just like Bilbo leaving Bag End without a pocket-handkerchief, he thought to himself, and then stopped thinking altogether as the enormity of the wormhole took his mind and hopefully his body, in a direction that defied belief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. When in Rome...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any reader who has no knowledge of Latin, there is a brief note at the end with translations of the words/phrases used.

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**7\. When in Rome…**

 

Adam shook himself mentally. Unfortunately, it didn't help. He, Adam Fenwick, was walking under another sun, on another planet. Various words came to mind, among them, cool, incredible, wow, unbelievable, way out and so not true. However, he followed Sharon down what appeared to be a sand dune, complete with marram grass, to a small encampment beside a sluggish brown stream.

 

The rest of his adopted team was preparing a meal, which consisted of opening self-heating ration packs. Adam had experienced these on camping trips in Northumberland and was prepared to be less than impressed. However, after the ragged welcome cheer that greeted him, Potts handed him a tray of something calling itself "boeuf a la mode" (whose mode was unspecified). It was not at all bad.

 

Colonel Somerfield gave him a steaming mug of coffee and then commented," I'm afraid we don't have any tea," with a rather worried look.

"Tea?" Adam was puzzled for a moment. "Oh, you mean because I'm English? Don't worry. Lots of us drink as much coffee as tea nowadays. I'm not actually keen on tea myself."

 

"Adam, I am thinking you are supporting me," said Vlad. "I am asking for a samovar in the field kitchen. These Americans are not being civilised." But he grinned and Somerfield rolled his eyes in mock exasperation so Adam took no notice, and just enjoyed his coffee.

 

After they had eaten, Sharon and Vlad took Adam to see the ruins they had found. Adam was startled. It was a huge site, not the sparse odds and ends he'd expected. Most of his occasional holidays had included a Roman element, and he had visited the ruined city of Volubilis, in Morocco. This was so similar it took his breath away. None of the buildings were still standing but low walls delineated the outlines, and the roads were clearly marked. It felt old and abandoned, as though the inhabitants had simply got tired and left. There was none of the sense of tragedy and immediacy that permeated sites like Pompeii, and none of the grandeur of Rome, but this was undeniably Roman. What remained of the architecture testified to that, as did the inscriptions on some of the fallen stones.

 

They were definitely in Latin. Adam had studied Latin at school. All the top stream of pupils were expected to take it, and he had an A grade at GCSE. That didn't mean he could translate all the words he saw, but he knew enough to recognise them. It turned out Vlad did, too. His father had been a lover of languages, and had introduced Vlad and his brother Gregor to Latin as a fun thing to do, a kind of code breaking exercise to while away long winter nights. He knew little, however, about the Romans. Sharon had some Spanish, as did the other men, and a knowledge of a Romance language had convinced them that Vlad was right to call this Latin.

 

Adam managed, using his knowledge of the camps along Hadrian's Wall, to identify the baths, the barracks, the grain store, and (less certainly) the governor's house, or at least the home of someone important. Sharon drew a rough map of the site and they labelled the areas Adam recognised. Then Adam and Vlad tried a little translation, but the stones were too fractured and scattered and eroded, and all they came up with were a few names and a possible direction to the hot pool, which led them to some bare sand.

 

"Nihil perfectus stet," said Vlad, and Adam gulped.

"Ye gods," he rejoined, "Don't expect me to speak it! I have enough trouble with things like 'dexter' and 'sinister' when I'm practising with a pilum."

"I am saying nothing is completely remaindered," explained Vlad, "But maybe my grammar is not being better than my English."

"I think your Latin's probably better than mine," said Adam, "And your English is a great deal better than my Russian!"

Vlad laughed.

"Te amo, Adam," he said.

"I'm sure you didn't mean that the way it sounded in Spanish," said Sharon.

"But yes, I am liking Adam," said Vlad. "He is my good friend, no?"

 

They headed back to the camp, and suddenly realised it contained too many people. Two men were talking, or rather gesturing to Colonel Somerfield, who was looking more and more desperate and confused. He welcomed the others back with relief. Between them, using bad Latin, even worse Spanish and a smattering of Italian Somerfield had once picked up on holiday, they eventually managed to communicate with their visitors. Their language seemed to be a version of Italian and Latin intermingled, and their names were Marcus and Petronius. They were from a city called Castra Nova, some miles to the east, and were archaeologists who had come out to study some of the ruins, hardly expecting to meet stargate travellers when they arrived. The ruins were of a city called Volubilis Minor, to Adam's surprise and amusement. His feelings had led him to part of the truth.

 

Communications with Hammond led them to accept an invitation to visit Castra Nova, and the little party set off with mixed feelings and some trepidation. Their language skills were barely up to the job, and their combined knowledge of history was little better. They were, however, equipped to take care of themselves, and could negotiate a visit from a more expert group if it seemed appropriate.

 

A little way upstream they found a barge, pulled by animals that looked for all the world like camels. On board they relaxed on deep pile rugs and drank something that tasted like a kind of alcoholic chocolate. Sharon seemed to enjoy it but the others just sipped politely.

 

Castra Nova again reminded Adam of Morocco, a cluster of white buildings, blind high walls lining the streets and showing fascinating glimpses of courtyards, through arched gateways, as they drifted past. When they had moored at a large, busy wharf, Marcus went off to tell someone (a governor?) of their arrival, while Petronius fussed with the camel boys and the mooring rope. Everyone they saw was dark, at least dark haired, if not swarthy, and Adam and Vlad were the objects of a great deal of curiosity. Passers by pointed and whispered and it was clear the two Europeans were the cause. Sharon might have stood out on account of her clothing, but was probably seen as a man. Potts and Somerfield, both dark haired, attracted no attention whatsoever.

 

When Marcus returned, he brought an elderly man in a white toga style garment and a group in bright tabards carrying gleaming spears.

"Toy soldiers," murmured Somerfield, but he signalled his team to be on the alert. The toga wearer introduced himself as Gaius Vitellus and invited them to follow him to the forum. The spearmen formed what appeared to be an honour guard and led them to a large rectangular building in a vast public space. There were columns all round and a series of wide steps led up to an imposing entrance.

"Let's just hope it's not the county jail," said the colonel, squaring his shoulders and leading his troop inside.

 

It seemed to be a kind of County Hall, rather than a jail. There were offices and meeting areas leading off a large central space with an important looking reception desk in the centre. Here they saw the first sign so far of any modern technology, a cumbersome brass telephone with wires snaking up a pillar and out of sight. Vitellus said something to the man at the desk, who immediately picked up his instrument and spoke into it. Orders crackled out of the earpiece, magnified by a hidden loudspeaker, and the spearmen melted away. Vitellus started towards an office at the far end of the room and beckoned them to follow.

 

The welcoming committee was pleasant and efficient. Whilst communication was still far from perfect, they were able to hold a sensible conversation which confirmed some of what they'd gathered from the archaeologists on the barge trip.

 

Castra Nova was the capital of a country called Solitudo Ultima. It was sparsely populated and all the people were descended from a group or tribe who had come from another world, through a round gateway, approximately fifteen hundred years ago The dates were sketchy as years on this world were not exactly the same length as those of Earth.

 

Historical records showed there had been frequent travel between the homeworld and this one until a disaster of some sort, possibly an earthquake, had closed the gate at the other side, leaving the tribe stranded. Their leader, an "imperator" with amazing powers of oratory and legendary battle skills, had been injured in a rockslide and had insisted on being sealed in a sarcophagus which he said would heal him. A group of rebels had disliked the leader's style of government and claims to godhood. This was a common claim by imperators in Roma, which had ruled the world they came from, but many were sceptical. Roma had fallen to northern marauders and their own country was lucky to be at the other side of the world's sea. They had followed Caesar Bellator's lead because he promised them riches, not for any religious reason. The rebels had moved the sarcophagus and hidden it. Bellator's troops had unfortunately killed all the rebels in the process of trying to find the hiding place, and had themselves fallen victims to a plague that had swept through the tiny populace.

 

Since then, the population had grown but was still small. Their language was that of their ancestors, although they knew it must have changed over time. There had been a move from Volubilis Minor after another plague in what Adam worked out as the seventeenth century, and the city had been given back to the desert. So far as they knew, there were no intelligent natives - just lizards, snakes and desert rats. The camels were from Earth. Caesar's sarcophagus was still missing, and was one of the things Marcus and Petronius were looking for. And now here were visitors who quite obviously came from the homeworld, through the gateway.

 

"So there must have been another stargate in the Atlas Mountains," mused Somerfield. "And we can assume Caesar Bellator was a minor Goa'uld trying to steal a march on the major players, and build up his strength in a relative backwater." Haltingly, they explained what they knew of the Goa'uld to Vitellus and his colleagues. No one seemed particularly surprised, and certainly no one wanted to defend Caesar's divinity.

 

Soon, they had agreed in principle on a larger, better-equipped team coming to Solitudo Ultima, though as ambassadors rather than explorers. They would negotiate treaties and trade and possibly travel. SGX could return home and

if some members of the team felt doubtful about Morocco's reception of its far-flung colony, they kept their opinion to themselves.

 

They were given a whistle stop tour of the city, and watched some soldiers practising with the very weapons Adam was familiar with. About the time Caesar had been buried, a group had set out across the desert to try their fortune elsewhere. Their descendants were not, Vitellus told them, to be trusted, and they kept the tradition of training a legion, just in case.

 

They were invited to a banquet to celebrate their arrival and their departure. Sharon was whisked away by some chattering women, summoned by the desk telephone. The banquet would be men only, they were told, and Sharon would be entertained in the women's quarters. Meanwhile, they were offered baths, and borrowed togas, which they accepted whilst keeping their weapons with them.

 

The banquet was certainly Roman style. They were led to couches in a grand house that apparently belonged to Vitellus. The entire group they had come to think of as the city fathers was present and Marcus and Petronius joined them too. More of the chocolate drink was served and in quantity it was definitely alcoholic. Somerfield stopped drinking quite early, and asked for a glass of water. His puritan background did not make him feel at ease with strong drink, and nor did his position as team leader. This place seemed safe enough, but still… He warned the others to go easy and that was easy. The drink was sickly and not to their taste. 

 

The food was strange - pungent sauces hid morsels of meat, candied fruits and unleavened bread were the accompaniments, and there was a lack of vegetables that to Adam, at least, spoilt the meal. Later, nuts and dried fruits were handed round, and a boy began to play a lute, or something similar, a sad, slow melody that seeped into the conversation and brought it to a halt. Then a troupe of dancers came in and twirled and pirouetted in the semicircle beyond the couches and the low tables. They were all boys, all handsome, and all scantily dressed.

 

More dishes of meat were handed round. Everyone had eaten all they could and when the Solitudans excused themselves then came back and started eating again, the team realised that they were indeed expected to empty their stomachs of their first course in order to do justice to the second. At the risk of causing an interplanetary incident, Colonel Somerfield managed to explain that this was not their custom, and their hosts, and the servers, laughed and left them alone.

 

Then huge bronze bowls were carried in, filled with what looked like grapes, but of varied and dazzling colours, and a goblet with a clear, honey scented liquid was placed in front of each guest. Adam sipped his and thought it was very like sherry. He hoped it wasn’t as strong. 

 

At this point, the dancing boys came over and sat at the end of the couches. The music found a faster tempo and the boys reached for the grapes and fed them to the guests. They didn't get very far with SGX. Potts spluttered and coughed and then closed his mouth very firmly. Somerfield waved his boy away and Vlad doubled up with laughter. Adam accepted one grape, before, reminded of Vlad in the infirmary, he, too, succumbed to mirth.

 

It was clear nobody was watching them, and equally clear what they were expected to do with the dancing boys. The shock on the faces of Somerfield and Potts was enough to set Vlad off into another fit of giggles, but Adam, feeling sorry for them, told Vitellus he thought they were all tired, and mimed sleep, to back up his words. A servant was immediately told to lead the team to a small chamber where they could spend the night, and it was all Adam could do to explain that they didn't need the boys as well.

 

They *were* tired, and Somerfield said he thought they could all sleep, without setting a watch.

"The main risk seems to be to our morals," he said with a rueful grin. Potts' face was brick red and Adam and Vlad found themselves laughing again. The two Americans were soon asleep but Adam was wakeful for a while, and saw Vlad creep out. He tripped over Adam's bed when he returned, an hour or so later.

"Was a good party, Brit," he said, before collapsing on his own bed. And judging by the state of his hair and his toga, Adam decided it must have been. 

 

Somerfield had heard him, too, and raised an eyebrow at breakfast. Vlad laughed. Apparently the dancing had been just that, and he had enjoyed the glimpse of their culture, and their bodies, although he didn’t mention the latter. He’d been whirled into the dance and had had a hard time keeping his feet in the intricate patterns. Eventually, the dancers had taken pity on him and sent him to bed. Somerfiled frowned at the risk he’d taken but Vlad reminded him of his comment about the risk being one to their morals and everyone grinned.

 

After breakfast they headed back down river to the stargate. Sharon had had a much less embarrassing introduction to Solitudan culture but the food had been similar. She laughed at their description of the feast and the boys, and Adam didn't mention Vlad's return to the banquet. 

 

They were careful when they dialled out. The people here had probably forgotten the code for Earth but no one wanted them turning up in the gateroom unannounced, before relations between the two worlds were on an official footing.

 

There would be plenty to report, and plenty for the experts to investigate. Meanwhile, another mission over, SGX was heading home.

 

As they walked down the ramp at Stargate Command, Vlad turned to Adam.

"Thank you for your silence, Adam," he said. "You would have liked too."

"No," replied Adam. "Dancing boys are *not* to my taste and I was surprised at you!"

"Sed lectus meus tuus est, Adam," Vlad said with a grin.

"Don't you mean 'domus', house rather than couch?" queried Sharon, obviously overhearing at least the last remark. Her Latin seemed to have improved. Vlad shrugged.

"Whatever," he agreed. "I am thanking Adam - he is knowing why," he told her.

Adam didn't respond, but as they reached the base of the ramp, Vlad caught his elbow and let the others get a few paces ahead.

"Domus lectusque," he murmured, and all Adam could do was pretend his Latin was not good enough to translate.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote:
> 
>  
> 
> nihil perfectus stet - (roughly)nothing remains perfect
> 
>  
> 
> dexter - right } these are common in English and are actually used by
> 
> sinister - left } modern 'legionaries' in weapons practice
> 
>  
> 
> te amo - I like you OR I love you (ambiguous)
> 
>  
> 
> lectus meus tuus est - my bed OR my couch is yours (ambiguity strikes again)
> 
>  
> 
> domus - house
> 
>  
> 
> domus lectusque - house and bed/couch
> 
>  
> 
> NB - I take no responsibility for Vlad's grammar etc.


	8. Dulce Domum

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**8\. Dulce Domum**

 

Vlad flung himself down on the larger of the apartment's two couches, unfastened his jacket and sighed deeply. Niki grinned.

"Had a good time?" he asked. "Saved the universe or anything?" Vlad shook his head but smiled. It was always good to speak Russian again after a few days spent with the team. His English was improving but it was hard work to speak nothing else.

 

"But you had Adam," prompted Niki.

"No, I did not 'have' Adam," said Vlad, pulling a mock sad face.

"But I thought…"

"Well, yes, SGX had Adam, but unfortunately…"

"Any progress?"

"If you call dropping hints in Latin, I suppose so."

"In _Latin_?!"

"Yes, and I think he understood, but at any rate he is still speaking to me."

"In Latin?"

"No, in English, but I shall continue to dream."

"I wish you luck, though I must say I prefer the gorgeous Sharon."

"I'd wish _you_ luck, but I get the feeling she prefers her men in uniform."

"I could invent a uniform - she'd never know - the order of Cossack knights or something…"

"You could model it on St. George…"

"Or the dragon!"

 

The conversation deteriorated into pure silliness, a sure sign that Vlad was winding down after the mission. He had jumped at the chance to come to America and was still excited by his role as a Stargate team member, but he still found it quite stressful at times, and welcomed Niki's uncomplicated friendship and his ability to defuse the tension with jokes. He also welcomed being able to talk about his fixation - the blond Englishman. He had admitted his feelings to Niki after a fair amount of vodka, not long after Adam's arrival, and to his everlasting relief, the other Russian had proved sympathetic and supportive. He leaned back, flicked his hair out of his eyes and indulged in a daydream until Niki brought vodka from the fridge and he heard the clink of ice in a glass.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

 

"Dear Emma,

Another very ordinary week."

 

(Well, to some people, going through the stargate *had* become ordinary. Not to him. Not yet.)

 

"I have been working hard, and feel I am gaining the respect of my colleagues."

 

(Not quite the word in Vlad's case, perhaps…)

 

"Some of them have again visited a Roman re-enactment display with me, and found it very enjoyable."

 

(At least, Vlad found the dancing boys enjoyable, and possibly the sherry-style drink.)

 

"I have been exercising with a pole rather like a pilum, and am improving my skills against a weapons instructor."

 

(Mustn't mention the fact that he's an alien.)

 

"A Russian major has joined our sessions and is showing real aptitude."

 

(Not to mention fluid grace and a body to die for. Not even to mention that to myself.)

 

"The computers are keeping me busy and I haven't seen much of America yet."

 

(But I've seen more than I expected of another world.)

 

"You know, of course, that a lot of what I do is classified, so I can't tell you much about it, which makes my letters rather boring as I spend most of my time at work!"

 

(Not on computers, either!)

 

"Sorry, Emma. A boyfriend working abroad, who doesn't even send news, must be a trial. Hope the hospital is treating you well and you get some sleep from time to time. I may come home on leave at Christmas,"

 

(Why did I say that? Still, it's months away.)

 

" and we can have some good long walks, depending on the weather.

Love.

Adam"

 

Adam sat back and contemplated the email he'd just composed. It really was incredibly boring, but what could he do? He had absolutely nothing to write about that wasn't either covered by the official secrets act or, and here he swallowed, totally unsuitable for his girlfriend's eyes.

 

He looked across at the poster of St. George. What was he going to do about Vlad? He would have to stop pretending to himself that it was all just teasing. There would be no purpose to it, after all. He hadn't provoked teasing and he didn't react outwardly. So that left Vlad seriously hitting on him. His mind whirled. Fragments of teenage angst and desire crept out of some vault where they'd been firmly locked away. He thought he'd thrown away the key to that particular closet. His courtship, if that was what it was, of Emma, had been designed to set him on a conventional path. They'd had sex, occasionally. (He hadn't been around that often). It had been good, but with something missing. He hadn't been prepared to ask himself what. Now Vlad was raising the question for him and he couldn't think of an answer.

 

He sent the email, but as he did, he pictured Vlad's brown hair and grey eyes rather than Emma's neat dark looks. Then he tuned his guitar and played Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now," singing the words softly and finishing with a few discordant notes.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

 

Sharon found Teal'c in the commissary and joined him, a large cup of coffee in her hand. The big alien fascinated her. She was usually wary of men - in her home town most guys were only after one thing and in the airforce men were something to compete with, or impress with her skills, depending on whether they were her peers or her seniors in rank. Suddenly she was faced with some new men. The Russians were different, although Vlad was a senior officer, and the Englishman didn't fit into any of the normal categories, either. But Teal'c was a whole magnitude of difference even from these. Alien. Polite and charming. Non-threatening in any way that mattered. In fact, she thought he seemed protective rather than threatening, and treated herself to a slight daydream, then sat down and greeted him.

"So SG1 are back?"

"Yes, Sharon, SG1 are back. We have been visiting the Tok'ra and discussing further possibilities for defending their base against the Goa'uld. Samantha enjoyed some time with her father."

"That must have been good. You didn't save the planet or dig up any skeletons this time, then?"

"No, Sharon, we did not. What about you? I believe SGX have also been off-world this week."

"Yes." Sharon considered. The excitement of finding the ruins had faded a little, and she had not particularly enjoyed her stay in Castra Nova.

"No heroics, and no skeletons, but we *did* find some real live Romans, and Vlad and Adam have been brushing up their Latin."

"I heard about the ruins. What is Latin, and why does it need to be brushed?"

"A dead language. Only it seems it isn't quite as dead as we thought, and the boys already know a little so they've been practising. That's what brushing up means," she added. Nobody knew when idiom would defeat Teal'c.

"I thought your ruins were Roman."

"Yes, and the Romans spoke Latin."

Teal'c raised his eyebrows and started muttering through what he knew of language names. "The Spanish speak Spanish, the Italians speak Italian, the Russians speak Russian…" Sharon stopped him.

"The Americans speak English," she reminded him and was glad to see his face clear.

"So, how do you celebrate being back?" she asked.

"After I have practised Kelno' reem? I rest, and I exercise and I prepare for the next mission. Sometimes the other members of my team involve me in their social life."

"Do you ever, you know, have social life of your own?" She wasn't sure how she'd got that out. Or how it sounded.

"Not often. Are you suggesting something?" Teal'c looked interested.

"Maybe we could go out for a meal," she heard herself say.

"We could indeed. Do you have a particular preference in eating places?" Sharon forgot to breathe, then told herself it was only a meal. Only! She suggested an Italian restaurant she'd heard was good and Teal'c immediately agreed. Before she knew it, they'd arranged to meet at the restaurant that evening, and Sharon went home to change, a lilt in her step and stars in her eyes.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Bob Somerfield finished the official report and handed it personally to Hammond.

"Fenwick did well," he told the general. "He's an asset to the team. Any chance of a permanent assignment?"

"It's something to consider. We have a precedent for civilian members in Daniel Jackson, and in Jonas, I suppose. But I'm not sure we have a pressing reason for such an appointment, even if he were agreeable to it. Mind you, the Brits would probably jump at the chance. Leave it with me and I'll discuss it with all concerned."

"Well, if you get the go-ahead, I'd like him on SGX. So remember I asked for him first!"

"Of course, but are you looking at an addition or a replacement?"

Somerfield didn't reply for a moment, then he said hesitantly,

"Potts is a good lad but I don't think his heart's really in this. Though I wouldn't like to wreck his hopes, if he has any. If *you* leave that with *me* I'll get back to you with a firmer answer later. Is that all right?"

"Perfectly," replied Hammond, and settled to read the report, while Somerfield left for home.

 

Martha was baking when he arrived, and the house smelled of warm pastry and something savoury and good. Bob kissed her dutifully and turned on the television. He half heard his wife ask if he'd had a good week on his training course, and replied with some platitude that came easily to his lips. Not a lie exactly. Just an economical version of the truth. Martha had no need to know where he and his team had been. He turned his attention to the news and the baseball scores. Life was back to normal, till the next mission, of course.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Team Bonding - Part 1

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**Part 4. In which we learn that some memories should be preserved.**

 

**9.Team Bonding - part 1**

 

Senior Airman Potts changed into his travel uniform and checked his kit. Everything was in order. He liked everything to be in order and was faintly uncomfortable when anything got used, untidied or even borrowed in the course of a mission.

His mother, back in the fishing port where he grew up, had always said that tidiness was next to cleanliness and that, of course was next to godliness. He was a great deal less sure about the last since his experiences with the Goa'uld but the first two were imprinted on his very soul. One of his earliest memories was helping his father to disentangle fishing nets, and the satisfaction when the task was done.

 

So far, his conscientiousness and sense of order hadn't brought much in the way of promotion but they had got him assigned to SGX. He loved it. He loved the swirling iris. He loved the codes and the chevrons. He loved the idea of bringing order and tidiness to the universe, clearing up the mess the Goa'uld or the replicators had made. When Colonel Somerfield had asked him if he was really happy in his work, he knew his eyes had filled with tears. How could anyone doubt it? Apparently they did. However, Somerfield now accepted his enthusiasm and here they were, bound for the stargate yet again.

 

Always the first ready, he watched the others arrive and prepare. Sergeant Vaughan was positively glowing. Her downtime must have been good. Major Tolstoy was less than totally neat, as usual, which quietly offended Potts, but didn't seem to worry Colonel Somerfield, who was looking relaxed and happy. The Russian Major made Potts' life difficult. As well as his general attitude to regulations, which resulted in hair and uniform that only just passed muster, he was prone to make incomprehensible jokes, sometimes at Ron's expense. The colonel, however, was worthy of respect.

 

The door opened and Adam Fenwick came in. Somerfield seemed to have been expecting him but the others were surprised.

"Hey, Adam. Joining us again?" Sharon sounded pleased.

"Adam, welcome!" There was no mistaking Vlad's pleasure at the computer expert's presence.

 

Somerfield made the formal announcement.

"I've spoken to General Hammond and I'm delighted to tell you Adam has agreed to join us on a semi-permanent basis as a civilian observer on behalf of his government. Which means he's now a member of SGX."

 

Sharon and Vlad cheered and Adam blushed. Potts was still trying to work out what Adam's role really was and how he should address him. 'Mr. Fenwick' didn't sound right and 'Adam' was probably too familiar. On the previous mission he'd tried to avoid speaking directly to Adam at all. He settled on 'sir' as most appropriate, then shyly added his welcome to the others'.

 

They were going to explore P3X-246. It was known to be a habitable planet. Radio interference during the initial mission suggested inhabitants, so it had been recommended for a follow up mission. So far, others had taken precedence, but now the file had reached the top of the heap on Hammond's desk. Their UAV would reconnoitre and lead them towards the nearest likely site. They would need a few days to investigate and would make contact via MALP every three days unless an emergency dictated otherwise.

 

The team headed for the ramp, passing Siler on their way.

"Stealing my man, are you?" he said, but he grinned and slapped Adam on the back.

Teal'c was watching from the gateroom, too and raised his hand in a wave to Sharon, whose mahogany cheeks took on the hue of ripe cherries. She waved back and then tossed her head, a small smile on her face. Vlad frowned. Perhaps he should warn Niki of a possible rival.

 

The second venture through the iris was, Adam decided, even more disorientating than the first. He came through into a hilly, wooded area, shaking his head and glad there were no hostile natives to greet them. The others seemed unconcerned, so perhaps the feelings grew less with time.

"Are you all right, sir?" Potts had noticed his discomfort.

"Yes," he said, but he shook the rest of himself, as well, just to make sure he was all there.

 

The first two days out from the stargate were essentially boring. They walked by day under a dim but adequate sun and camped in pleasant countryside by the light of an almost silver moon. Small rodents scurried out of their path, and a few birds sang in the trees. It was tiring, staying alert for evidence of intelligent life, when the evidence never materialised.

 

Nobody said much. When they chatted, they did so in low voices, looking around the whole time and pausing to listen. Their radios were switched on but unused. Somerfield set a watch at night and they each spent a couple of hours observing the others asleep. The UAV had produced no actual results as yet, just a direction to follow.

 

Vlad teased Sharon about Teal'c, but all she would say was that they'd had dinner.

"And the next day he sent me flowers." She sighed happily. Vlad made a mental note to tell Niki that flowers were one way to Sharon's heart, then dropped the subject. He was careful in his conversations with Adam. They were never alone and he had taken risks the last time. Not that there were any risks to the civilian, but the Russian military would probably take a dim view of the sort of fraternisation he had in mind.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

On the third day, just after Bob had reported to Hammond, a huge flying machine, like a helicopter, with curved blades and an all -over design a tagger would have envied, landed about a hundred yards from their path. When its engines cut out the silence was deafening. They all drew their weapons. Adam had a staff weapon based on Teal'c's, but he had a strong suspicion it would be less than useful against whoever designed and flew this thing.

 

The creature that stepped out had curls. Masses of them, a rich shade of auburn. They couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman but it was definitely human and was smiling.

"Pleeease," it said. The voice was androgynous too.

"Put down your weapons. We have nooo intention of hurting you. You are welcome."

 

Colonel Somerfield stepped forward and introduced himself and his team. One hand was telling them to remain alert, but he sounded confident and friendly.

 

"Yeess, we know. We've been monitoring your conversations since you arrived. That's how we've got our translators set to your language." This was said with a slight gesture towards a small shoulder bag. "We monitored the laast team from your language zone, too. Are they coming back?"

 

Somerfield had no desire to explain Stargate Command Policy to an alien interrogator and contented himself with a blunt, "No."

"Weeell," said Curlylocks, "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I'm Xeri. Vereth is our pilot, and Xabba is my assistant." Two people joined Xeri from the helicopter. They could have been Xeri's twins except that one was blond and the other had black hair. Both wore shoulder bags like Xeri's and as yet there was no sign of a weapon. They all wore skintight suits, in psychedelic colours but hiding nothing except their gender. Each wore an exaggerated codpiece, metallic and engraved. These might cover anything or nothing. They spoke together in low voices - the words that carried were not in English - then Xeri faced the team again.

 

"Pleeease join uss," s/he said, then frowned and twiddled a catch on the bag.

"Please join us, I meant to say. That's better!" The smile seemed genuinely welcoming. "We've been sent to invite you to meet some of our people. We can easily fit you all in the helicopter, and it will be much faster than walking!"

 

Somerfield considered. This was, after all, what they had come to check out, but to put his whole team in one machine seemed foolhardy. After a quick conference with Vlad, he turned back to Xeri.

"Can we reach the place you're taking us on foot?" he asked.

"Certainly. But it will take some time."

"Then Major Tolstoy and Airman Potts will follow us at walking pace," he told the alien. " We want to take back first hand reports on your world. They can bring the MALP. Three of us would be honoured to come with you now."

 

Adam found it hard to step into the helicopter. He half trusted the pleasant aliens but he cast a wistful glance at Vlad and Ron. He found a seat beside Sharon and tried not to shudder as the huge 'bird' rose into the air. Vlad looked tiny on the ground and then he vanished as they flew above the trees and over the next hill.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Ron Potts sighed inwardly. He had no desire to spend time with the major, but no real grounds for complaint. They holstered their weapons, shouldered their packs and walked on.

 

 

 


	10. Team Bonding - Part 2

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**10.Team Bonding - Part 2**

 

They had been at the village for almost three days and there was no sign of Vlad or Ron. Somerfield wasn't seriously worried; the flight had been short but the terrain was hilly and the walking would be slow. He would, however, welcome his other team members. Something felt wrong, and he wished they were all together. Some time tomorrow he would have to contact Hammond. The days here were not quite the same length as Earth ones. He wondered whether his hosts would allow him to radio. Probably. As long as they didn't suspect that he suspected…what? He didn't know.

 

The planet was called Vaal, according to the inhabitants, and the people were not from his earth. They were aware of the Goa'uld but had some sort of defence system that they seemed reluctant to discuss. They were a thinly scattered population, they told him, living on more than one continent and preferring small communities. Their communication and monitoring devices were sophisticated in the extreme, but Bob had seen no sign of radio masts, cameras or any other hardware. So far, they had seen nothing like televisions or radios, just the ubiquitous shoulder bags. Nor had they seen weapons.

 

The bags spoke for their wearers, synchronising the speech perfectly with the lip movements. The English was perfect, too, once a few initial glitches like the lengthened vowels were sorted out. Everyone sounded the same, which was disconcerting at first, but gradually they learnt to distinguish nuances of speech. Xabba was particularly friendly.

They learnt he was male, Xeri and Vereth were female, and hair colour was a sure-fire way to tell. Men, it seemed, were always dark, women never, and no, nobody ever dyed their hair.

 

They were housed in a comfortable apartment, over a shop that sold alien artefacts that none of them could figure out. Xabba said they were zho'tai, but either would or could not elaborate. There seemed to be no translation. They looked almost like figurines, but unfinished somehow. The shopkeeper was a friendly redhead called Yexi. She cooked appetising meals for them and kept the apartment spotless. She had very few customers, so obviously zho'tai weren't one of life's staples, and the quiet shop gave Yexi plenty of time to look after her guests. They had been surprised to find that there was nothing like a food shop in the village, and they had established that supplies came by helicopter.

 

Xeri and Xabba were constant visitors, willing to answer questions about life on Vaal, and ready to introduce other Vaalans who came to talk, to eat or in some cases just to gawk. Some of the latter were small, presumably children, and the earth team were amused rather than offended.

 

So what was wrong? Adam and Sharon seemed happy enough. They were chatting away, trying to find out as much as possible about their hosts. Nobody mentioned moving anywhere else; waiting for the rest of the team was essential. Sharon was flirting, guardedly, with Xabba, who was occasionally seen grinning like a Cheshire cat. Xeri had at first fluttered her long curly eyelashes at Adam, but with no result, and was now trying the same tactics on Bob. Maybe they were just too friendly. But alien mores might be very different and it was hardly diplomacy to complain that the natives were chatting up the embassy staff.

 

**********

 

Sharon was enjoying herself. First Teal'c and now Xabba. Aliens seemed to be her thing. Xabba's lush black curls tempted her fingers and when his huge brown eyes fastened on hers she could hardly bear to look away. She sipped the

ya'an they were drinking, a beverage like hot weak apple juice with overtones of cinnamon. They'd drunk what seemed like gallons of it. Every visitor expected to drink with them and even the sips mounted up. Xabba was telling her about his mother and his sisters. He was fiddling with the translator as he spoke, so his eyes were not on her at the moment. This left her at liberty to enjoy his almost perfect body and the hair…

 

When he reached forward and put his hand on her knee, she was flattered. She covered his hand with hers and leaned towards him, ready for the kiss that ought to follow. In the middle of the kiss, something made her draw back. Not the kiss itself. Xabba's lips were gentle and firm, and his tongue probed her mouth tenderly. But something… Sharon found herself trembling. She wasn't usually shy or easily embarrassed but she felt a flush mounting to the roots of her hair and a gut instinct told her to back off. Xabba looked disappointed but covered it well

"I have moved too fast for you, my beautiful alien," he said. Then he sighed, smiled and sipped some more ya'an.

 

***********

 

Bob was at the other side of the room on a window seat, uncomfortably close to Xeri. They, too, had ya'an and he was savouring the taste. It was like one of Martha's favourite herb teas. At the thought of Martha he caught himself querying the situation again. He had been unfaithful a few times in the past, although the fact made him ashamed and he tried hard to forget the incidents. A true godfearing man should cleave to his wife as long as they both should live. But his previous

lapses had not involved aliens. Nor had they been so public. Adam and Sharon were both there and could see him virtually drooling over Xeri. He hadn't kissed her yet, but his resolve was weakening.

 

***********

 

Adam was daydreaming. His response to Xeri had been cool, perhaps as cool as his feelings about Emma. Xabba, now…But Xabba was interested in Sharon. He drained his ya'an cup and refilled it without thinking. The climate was warm and they were constantly thirsty. His mind was hovering between Xabba and Vlad and it appeared neither was available at present, so daydreaming would have to do.

 

The daydream was interrupted by Yexi's son, Zh'in. He'd brought more ya'an and he stayed to chat. Adam found himself warming to the dark haired boy with the lively eyes and mobile lips. He looked about thirteen in earth age, but might well be older or younger. His fingers were actually playing with Adam's when the oddness hit home. Adam was most certainly not attracted to children. This boy was a total stranger and an alien at that. Something was wrong. He dragged his hand away and Zh'in pretended not to notice. He picked up the ya'an pot and left, smiling, fidgeting with his translator bag as he went.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Late evening saw them left to their own devices. Yexi had come and gone, giving them a delicious concoction of some sort of fish with herbs and spices, served on fleshy leaves, and accompanied by ya'an. Zh'in had helped her serve, and had not even looked at Adam. All three felt uncomfortable but unwilling to start a discussion. Adam slipped out of the apartment and walked moodily along the path that led out of the village into the trees. The moonlight was more refreshing than the dull sun. It sparkled on the leaves and lit some batlike creatures that flew, chittering shrilly, from tree to tree. Adam walked purposefully, determined to clear his head and his mind of the fog that was creeping in.

 

Back in the apartment, Bob and Sharon started talking at the same time.

"I don't know what you thought…"

"I didn't want you to think…"

They both broke off and then Bob started again, ruefully.

"We all seem to be under some kind of spell here. But it feels - I don't know - wrong, somehow. Not just morally wrong. Heaven knows, I shouldn't be looking at Xeri the way I do but…"

Sharon nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I'm beginning to wonder if they put an aphrodisiac in that ya'an."

"That would actually explain things," said Bob, sounding almost relieved at the idea of having something to blame. The fears that such an explanation would raise didn't strike him for a moment, but Sharon's face showed her shock.

"I was kind of joking but, my god, you're right." They stared at each other and then looked round for Adam.

"I think he went for a walk," said Sharon.

"Well, let's hope he's back soon. We need to talk about this and compare notes. I'm thirsty - is there anything to drink apart from ya'an?"

"Well, the water tastes foul. We know that from the time we tried it on the first day. They've left plenty of ya'an, in thermos flasks. Maybe we ought to test the theory by not drinking it but…"

"Maybe we can test it *by* drinking it. We've always drunk it with the Vaalans before."

"I usually have a cup by my bed at night."

"Yes, but you sleep alone." Sharon nodded and blushed as she remembered some of her dreams over the last few nights. They had involved Teal'c rather than Xabba which was why she hadn't given them a second thought.

 

They raised full cups and drank, watching each other carefully. Bob started thinking how lovely Sharon was. Why had he never noticed? He leaned towards her, and his voice dropped to a husky croak.

"You're a fine figure of a woman Sharon Vaughan. How about you and me…"

Sharon's burst of laughter took him by surprise, and bruised his ego slightly.

"Well, that was some test," Sharon said, still grinning, and it dawned on Bob that they had a serious situation on their hands.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Adam became aware of footsteps. They were faint, but growing louder. He felt uncomfortable. Should he be out in the woods at night? Nobody had tried to tell them where to go or what to do, but still, he had no idea what might offend their hosts. Then Vlad and Ron cam round a bend in the road and Adam heaved a sigh of relief.

 

Potts was cheerful.

"Here we are, Major. They're here. I said we were nearly there, didn't I? Aren't you glad we didn't stop to camp earlier?"

He bounced up to Adam like an eager puppy.

"We're here! It's taken us ages. Were you worried?"

"I think the colonel was beginning to feel concerned. He and Sergeant Vaughan are in the village. Second house on the right. Upstairs."

" Be in a hurry, Potts. They will be wanting the good news," Vlad's voice was music to Adam's ears. How much he'd missed his friend!

Potts sped on, with the MALP, but Vlad stopped and dropped his pack. He stepped forward and gave Adam his usual greeting - a kiss on each cheek. Somehow, that didn’t seem enough. Instead of moving away he paused, his mouth hovering over Adam's. After an instant of shock and another of intense desire, Adam felt his own lips parting in response.

This kiss was not a formal greeting. Vlad was drinking him in, tasting him, revelling in him like a man finding water in a desert. And he was drowning in the kiss. But just as his arms snaked around Vlad's neck, the magic was interrupted. They heard Bob's voice.

"Thank God you're here. Get inside quickly. We've got problems. And whatever you do, don't drink the tea."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Team Bonding - Part 3

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**11.Team Bonding - Part 3**

 

They sat in the lounge area of the apartment staring at each other. Vlad's eyes were big with shock as they rested on Adam. An aphrodisiac? Adam squirmed inwardly. He hadn't needed an aphrodisiac to return Vlad's kiss, only an excuse, and now they couldn't even discuss it.

 

They agreed to stick with water, however unpleasant. Vlad and Ron had found fresh streams beside their path and these had proved both safe and clean tasting. The brackish flavour in the tap water might be an effect of the pipes. More probably, it was a deliberate attempt to make them drink ya'an. Potts filled his flask with ya'an - they might need a sample to analyse. Vlad filled his with tap water for the same reason.

 

Then they tried radio contact. There was a blanket of interference and Bob sighed.

"We can ask, tomorrow," he said. But they all knew the likely answer. They debated setting out for the gate there and then but Vlad vetoed travelling at night.

"It take long," he pointed out, "And path are not easy. Is better we are first sleeping,"

Bob agreed. The Vaalans didn't know their secret was out, yet. He set watches for the night, even so, and it was a very worried team that took turns sleeping. Sharon did not dream.

 

Morning saw Xeri as a guest for breakfast. It was obvious to all of them that Potts didn't require ya'an to make him react to her. He blushed and stammered like a teenager. He knew perfectly well that this might be the enemy but his hormones said she was a very sexy enemy indeed. She tried to offer them ya'an and seemed surprised when they refused and drank water. She mentioned the taste and they all pretended they had no idea what she meant. They schooled their faces to indifference and drank, while the ya'an cooled, unwanted. Bob observed that Xeri pretended to drink but actually only touched her cup to her mouth.

 

He raised the matter of the radio, casually, and Xeri expressed surprise and regret.

 

Standoff.

 

Then Xabba had arrived outside and called up to the open window.

"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Adam replied for all of them, "And our friends have rejoined us." No sense in being unfriendly or rude - yet.

Xabba came up and talked for a moment with Xeri, then announced, with a huge smile, that he thought they could solve the radio problem. He moved a switch on his translator and spoke in a sharp, clipped language to someone who replied in kind. Then he switched back to English.

"You must bring the radio to the zho'tai shop," he said, and led the way downstairs. He fiddled with some wall switches in the shop, then told Bob to go ahead. It was quite clear he and Xeri weren't moving, so Bob's communication was very guarded. He considered asking Vlad to use Russian but decided there was no sense in provoking the Vaalans. He said that everyone was well, and that the team was together. He used a few code words to let his listeners know he was expecting trouble of some sort and said they'd try to get back to the gate before the next report was due.

Then he signed off and thanked Xabba for making the contact possible.

 

Xeri professed sorrow that they wanted to leave so soon.

"If you stay one more day, you can meet some of our most important people," she said. It was hard to find a reason not to. In fact, Bob calculated the timing involved, allowing for the shorter days on Vaal, and gave in. There was no sign yet that they were prisoners rather than guests, and it was just within the bounds of possibility that the ya'an effect was not deliberate. Or at least, not malicious. But he would have to make sure Potts didn't try it.

 

Vlad and Ron were shown round the village, while the others sat chatting to visitors in the lounge. Xabba had disappeared and Xeri was introducing some new Vaalans to the colonel and Adam, so Zh'in acted as guide, and Sharon came on the tour for the second time, eyes alert for anything they'd missed when they arrived earlier.

 

Vlad was handling the zho'tai and asking questions. Sharon was listening carefully to Zh'in's answers, which told her nothing. Potts, who was not at all interested in zho'tai, and wanted another look at the lovely Xeri, stepped outside the shop and moved across the road to a vantage point where he hoped to see the apartment windows. Leaning against a wall, trying to look as if he were merely waiting for his friends, he suddenly became aware of voices.

 

It was like listening to a telephone conversation. One person was speaking the clipped alien language. The other had obviously left his translator on.

 

"Xeri thinks they're suspicious."

"xxxxxxxxx"

"Well, we've almost finished filming. If tonight's episode is a bit short we can pad it with earlier scenes."

"xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

Yes, we finish them tonight. It won't be as pleasant without the drug, but our audience is waiting."

"xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"Don't worry, all our translators have cameras loaded and ready."

"xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"I'm sure all right minded Vaalans like this way of dealing with criminals, and after all, aliens who invade our planet are criminals. As others have learnt, to their cost."

"xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"I don't think they'll send any more - though it's a pity we didn't get their first group."

 

Everything slotted into place. Potts wanted to run back to his colonel and report what he'd learnt, but knew the Vaalans mustn't know he'd overheard them. He moved cautiously to the corner of the building, where a door was ajar, and peeped round - the more information he could get, the better. In the light of the conversation, what he saw made sense.

 

Somehow, as Sharon and Vlad came out of the shop, followed by Zh'in, he managed to attract Sharon's attention. They fell behind the others and he whispered what he knew.

"I'm bored with this," she called to Zh'in. "I'm going back upstairs. Enjoy your tour, you two!" And she left, walking purposefully, but not too fast. Vlad glanced at Potts but the young man shook his head fractionally. They needed to lull their hosts into a false sense of security.

 

Sharon almost dragged Bob away from the people he was talking to.

"You stupid idiot," she said, frantically signalling with her eyes that she didn't mean what she was saying. "I need to talk to you. Now! In private!" The Vaalans looked amused and continued chatting to Adam while Sharon and Bob retreated to Sharon's bedroom.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

 

The team met over lunch. They had no Vaalan company so presumably no one knew they were alerted. Or perhaps the aliens were simply very confident. Potts ran over the conversation he'd heard and told them what he'd seen. The other houses weren't houses. They were film sets, facades, with cameras and microphones hidden in the walls facing the street. Nobody lived here. Yexi and Zh'in were mere caretakers in a shop full of props, props that didn't need a proper name or use, because everyone knew what they were, except the guests. And indigenous "criminals" probably knew too. All the people they'd met had been, presumably, taking a studio tour.

 

It appeared to be a gigantic snuff movie, with criminals (or aliens in this case) as the victims. If they were adequately drugged, the lead up to the execution would titillate and excite the audience via the live screening of the action. The actual mode of death was not known, yet. But Ron had seen posters in the house that suggested some kind of vampire style ritual, with fangs and a lot of blood.

 

Six Vaalan days to the gate, at best. No way to communicate via MALP until they were much nearer, out of range of the jamming. It had to be deliberate jamming, after the experience in the shop that morning. Colonel Somerfield looked round at his team. They were brave and resourceful. They would have to be.

 

Suddenly, Vlad's face lit up and he said something in Russian, then in English for the rest of them.

"Waiting five minute then following me. The helicopter pad. They are not expect it."

"Wait a minute!" Bob's concern showed all too clearly on his face. "You can't fly that thing with no experience."

Vlad stared. Then frowned.

"You are not reading my notes when I come to work for you?"

"Well, I know you're a pilot, of course.."

"Am helicopter instructioner. And testing pilot. All kinds of." His English deteriorated in his anxiety to make them understand. "They humans - our size. Need handle, pedal, is OK. Not for testingness, perhaps, but can go to gate." And with that he was gone.

 

 

Bob looked at his watch and prayed. He had to believe in his enthusiastic major. There really wasn't much choice. Sharon was watching from the window, her teeth biting her lip, ready to monitor Vlad's progress and to alert them if the Vaalans returned.

"He's there!" she said, just as Bob told them time was up. Adam and Ron had used the five minutes to grab all the gear and weapons. They ran down the stairs, out of the house and across to the landing place. It was, as Vlad had suggested, so unexpected that the Vaalans who were around took a moment to realise what was happening. In that moment, Vlad had the motor running, and the blades turning. The team fell over each other into the machine as the Russian took off. They were all too breathless to speak as they cleared the village and the trees.

 

"I tell you, they not expect," said Vlad as he steered a course for the stargate. "They are thinking we explorers, not fighting, not flying." It seemed he was right. They were not immediately followed.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

It was a bumpy ride but at last the gate was in sight in the distance. The far distance. At which point the engine spluttered and Vlad brought the machine down and cut the power.

"Fuel finish," he told them. "Is safer stop now, not crash." The others were in total agreement. They climbed out and set out for the gate, but a mind-wrenching drone told them they'd been followed - and spotted.

 

The helicopters, three of them, landed near the gate, and disgorged a group of Vaalans, armed to the teeth. Surprisingly, their weapons appeared less sophisticated than expected. The equivalent of muskets and flintlocks, at a guess. But any bullet can kill and the team were outnumbered at least three to one.

 

One of the Vaalans, possibly Xabba, though it was hard to tell at a distance, had what looked like a loud-hailer.

"You will surrender to us and drop your weapons," came the command.

Bob continued to walk forwards until he thought he could be heard.

"Why? You don't want us here. Just let us go. You could destroy the gate or guard it."

"Our audience is waiting. We cannot let you go now." The answer was chilling in its simplicity.

Bob shrugged and turned to his companions.

"It seems the show must go on," he said, and gave the hand signal to open fire.

 

As with the helicopter, they took the Vaalans by surprise, and narrowed the odds in the first few moments. Then Sharon fell. A quick look showed she was stunned, not injured, but she didn't regain consciousness quickly. The others shielded her as best they could and she started to rise but was obviously groggy. By now Bob had reached the pillar. Adam and Ron covered him as he dialled out.

 

"Go, go go!" he yelled, as the familiar interface opened. Ron grabbed Sharon and Adam caught her other arm. They dragged her to the gate and were through. Adam glanced back as they went and saw Bob and Vlad engaging the rest of the pursuers. There was nothing he could do.

 

Bob did some more praying. The Vaalans didn't want to kill them - at least not yet, but he had no intention of letting them use either himself or his major in their "entertainment". Then Vlad ran towards the helicopters and the Vaalans followed.

 

"You go through," he shouted to Bob. "I OK." And he aimed at the nearest machine. The explosion was satisfactory and the black smoke engulfed the entire group. Bob and Vlad didn't wait to see if anyone emerged. They ran for the gate and were through, Vlad rolling down the ramp and landing in an untidy heap at Hammond's feet. Behind Hammond, Adam heaved a sigh of relief.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

The debriefing was short and to the point. P3X-246 would be on the list of proscribed planets. There was no need to tangle with the filmmakers again.

"So they got what they wanted," said Somerfield.

"Without the special effects," Sharon reminded him.

"I wonder how they dealt with the Goa'uld," said Hammond. "I don't suppose we'll ever know!"

Ron and Vlad handed over their flasks with the samples of ya'an and water. Someone might find a use for them and the lab guys were always interested in new finds.

"Date rape, if you ask me," said Bob, with a guilty glance at Sharon.

Vlad wondered sadly whether drug induced kissing counted; whether he ever dare repeat it; what Adam thought. There didn’t seem to be any way to ask. The kiss had been his dream and had dissolved like a dream too.

Hammond noted the loss of the MALP and the UAV with resignation. His SG teams were becoming altogether too cavalier with his hard won equipment. He dismissed them with a sigh. Paperwork beckoned.

 

They would have a long weekend off, but nobody had made plans yet. As they walked to the elevator, Vlad turned to Adam.

"Sorry, Brit. I am being sorry. You know for what. We forget. Yes?"

Adam wanted to tell him he didn't want to forget. He wanted to experience that kiss again - and again. But Sharon joined them and the moment was lost, as they all headed up towards the sunshine.

 


	12. Small Victories

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**Part 5. In which our hero takes a vacation**

 

**12.Small Victories**

 

Adam was not in a good mood.

 

He had wanted to go somewhere - anywhere, really - on a Greyhound ticket, maybe. He was tired of being at the wrong side of the Atlantic and not seeing much of anything above ground. But it was already six o'clock on Friday evening and Tuesday morning didn't seem far enough away.

 

He had also wanted to explain to Vlad. To say that alien aphrodisiacs just weren't in the picture. To provoke him into another kiss. That was about as far as that thought had got.

 

Instead he e-mailed Emma and pretended he'd been working on computers all week.

 

Then he opened a bottle of wine and settled down with his guitar. No songs this time - his brain wasn't coping with words.

He went through his Spanish repertoire - mostly Sor and Rodrigo, then settled for practising some Vivaldi - written for lute, transcribed for modern musicians. He still hadn't found anything Russian but decided to look out some easy piano pieces and see what he could do with the melody line. There would be some available to order on amazon.

 

After about an hour, his second glass was almost empty, his fingers were getting numb and the music was becoming discordant. His mood had not improved. St. George, Adam reflected, didn't have problems like this. He only had to kill dragons - and obviously found that easy.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Sharon got ready for the evening with her head in a whirl. She decided against make-up but put on some earrings and a bracelet in uncut garnets, a gift she'd bought herself when she made sergeant. She loved the slight sheen of the dark stones against her skin. Her wardrobe was not extensive but she had a couple of dresses she really liked. She chose a black one, low- necked and figure hugging, and slipped into some matching sandals. A quick pirouette in front of the full-length mirror and she was ready.

 

Perfume? She had no idea what Teal'c's reaction to earth perfumes might be. A faint misting of honeysuckle - she bit her lip. Too late now. She hadn't time to shower again.

 

The doorbell rang and his first words were,

"You smell very beautiful, Sharon. You are like a summer flower." After that, the evening had to go well.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Niki surveyed his disconsolate friend.

"Tell me again," he said. "Tell me *exactly" what happened." He hadn't made much sense of the story yet, but had gathered that Vlad was extremely upset.

 

So Vlad told him again, carefully and sequentially and comparatively calmly, then buried his head in his hands.

"You really are an idiot, you know," said Niki. "So far as I can make out, they were surrounded by beautiful aliens, who at that point were considered to be friendly, and the only effect the aphrodisiac had on St. George was to send him for a walk to clear his head. Then the minute *you* appeared, he was putty in your hands."

 

Vlad looked up.

"Furthermore," Niki went on, "You didn't even give him the benefit of the doubt. You just blurted out some crackbrained apology and left the poor guy to go home alone."

"But…"

"Rubbish!"

"And anyway…"

"So as I can't stand watching you agonising, I intend to take a hand in this."

"What…?" But Vlad was talking to the walls. Niki had picked up his keys and left the apartment. Vlad took refuge in the darkness of his doubts, drawing all the might-have-beens around himself in a cloak of misery. There was nothing, he thought, that Niki could usefully do.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

When the bell rang, Adam almost didn't answer. His black mood had settled like a northern sea fog. He reached the intercom as the bell sounded again.

"Niki here. I am visiting you." The second sentence seemed a little unnecessary, but in any case, Adam pressed the buzzer to let the Russian into the building, and then opened the door. He glanced round quickly. Well, if Niki wanted to sit down, he'd just have to move some sheet music.

 

"I haven't any vodka," he greeted his visitor. Niki grinned and pulled a half bottle from behind his back. Adam found him a clean glass and poured the last of the wine into his own.

"So why am I honoured with a visit?" he asked. "And where's Vlad? I thought you two went everywhere together - apart from off-world, I mean."

"Is why I am here. Is very unhappy. Is drinking too much vodka." Adam raised his eyebrows at this. Niki criticising someone else's intake of vodka meant the situation was serious.

 

"I am ask you. He tell me what happen on Vaal. He think you offend. No," he corrected himself quickly, "He think he offend you. And he say sorry, but is still unhappy. I am ask if you are friend."

"Well of course I'm still his friend." Adam's usually pale features were a dull red.

"You know he is militia, militeria, whatever? He must careful." The anxiety in Niki's voice showed his concern. "You and me, Brit, we not milit..we can say true." Adam looked around wildly. The guitar didn't seem to be offering any advice. Nor did the picture of the saint. He took a deep breath.

 

"You could tell him…"He stopped, unnerved by the enormity of what he was about to say.

"What? What I can tell?" Niki coaxed gently.

"That he can offend me again as often as he likes." Adam's voice was a whisper. "And he asked me to forget - but I won't," he added.

 

Niki heaved a sigh of relief. He'd been right. Right in his suspicions. Right to interfere. Adam looked about as ragged as Vlad. He poured vodka for himself and pushed the bottle towards Adam.

"I thinking maybe you needing," Niki said, a half smile on his face. Which turned into a full one when Adam tossed back the remains of his wine and picked up the bottle.

"Is only way to give Russki and Brit Dutch courage," the Russian added, "But not *too* much. Or will be no use!"

 

They drank without speaking for a few minutes, then Niki said there was a barbecue planned behind his apartment building that evening, in the garden where the Russians had sung, earlier in the year. He made Adam promise to be there by nine o'clock. He, Niki, would ensure Vlad was present.

 

After which, he left Adam to freshen up and decide what to wear. He hoped the Brit was sufficiently high on vodka to keep to the agreement. Sometimes, being a matchmaker was a hard job.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Sharon and Teal'c headed for town. They were going to a jazz club that Teal'c knew and liked. They could eat and drink to their favourite music. Sharon had been thrilled to realise Teal'c was a jazz lover.

 

They both ordered steak and Sharon asked for red wine, at least partly to boost her confidence and cut through her inhibitions. No aphrodisiac here - just her own growing desire. This date was at Teal'c's invitation.Teal'c stuck with fruit juice. He had never acquired the earth habit of using alcohol.

 

The live band were unknowns, but good, and the audience was appreciative. A few people were dancing, or moving together, anyway, on the minuscule dance floor. The lighting was low -probably cost saving, but definitely romantic. Sharon tasted her steak. Delicious. She looked up under her lashes at Teal'c, who was being serious about the food. Eventually he broke off to take a drink and to speak to her.

"The food and the music are good here. Do you like it, Sharon?" She nodded, her mouth full, hoping he could see her in the half-light.

"And it is especially good to be here in such delightful company." She almost choked - with amazement, with pleasure. Then found her voice.

"The feeling's mutual, Teal'c."

"What are the stones you are wearing?"

 

So she told him about the garnets, about treating herself after her promotion, and then it seemed easy to tell him all about herself, her childhood, her striving and her success. He watched her gravely, intent and interested. When she finished, he started to tell about his own past. Some of it was common knowledge. Some, just small memories really, was new, and had been brought out and polished for her, a gift.

 

They didn't dance. They left earlier than they'd intended, both needing a more private space, together.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Adam headed for the buzz of voices and the smell of burning meat. He knew one or two of the people from the apartments by now. They were a casually friendly crowd, knowing him simply as a computer geek from the UK, taking him as they found him. Ken and Joanne greeted him and thrust a hamburger into his hand, together with a paper napkin to protect his black jeans and the white T-shirt with the Kielder Forest logo.

"Cool shirt," said Joanne. "Where's Kielder?"

"It's a forest, and a lake, near my home in England. Well, it's a man-made lake, a reservoir, really, but that doesn't stop it being home to a lot of wildlife - and tourists."

"Is it a big area?"

"Yes, huge, and despite the tourists you can walk all day and not meet a soul."

"I always thought of England as small and overcrowded," said Ken.

"Well, London's overcrowded, and one or two other cities, but there's plenty of space." Adam continued to stand near the glowing barbecue, watching the crowd and chatting idly.

 

Niki had resuscitated Vlad, given him black coffee and a serious pep talk, found him clean clothes, persuaded him to pocket condoms and lube, "in case" and had finished with an admonishment.

"Your Brit wants you, Vlad, but he's shy and he's easily scared. Be careful with him. And," he finished, "Use his apartment, not ours."

 

Now he propelled his friend across the grass towards the group of cheerful neighbours. Adam saw them. His first instinct was to run away but he took a deep breath and stood stock-still. Niki pulled Vlad over. Their first few words were banal in the extreme.

 

"Hi, Brit. You are OK?"

"I'm fine, Vlad. You?"

"I fine too. What you do?"

"Eating." Well, yes, that was pretty clear.

"What you eating?"

"Hamburger."

"Is good?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I am trying."

 

Adam didn't reply. He just held out the remaining half of his hamburger. Vlad took it and raised it to his mouth, never taking his eyes from Adam's.

"Remember," murmured Niki, "His flat," and hoped one of them had enough sense left to hear him.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Later, Adam wondered how they'd got safely across the road. Maybe, he thought, the whole world had stopped for everyone, not just for them. Perhaps the traffic had stilled and let them pass without incident. He had no idea. But they *had * crossed, and they *had* reached his flat. 'Safely' was, of course, a matter of opinion.

 

As soon as the door was closed, he was in Vlad's arms. The Russian was unexpectedly gentle. Adam wasn't sure what he'd thought would happen. Not this dreamlike kissing and caressing, at any rate. The kisses were an improvement on the first one, on Vaal. He hadn't thought anything could be.

 

Still…

 

All his fears resurfaced. He'd gone through this as a teenager, when he'd decided to ignore his feelings and live straight. Now the repressed emotions were hitting him hard. He must have tensed, because Vlad was stroking him, whispering to him, in totally incomprehensible but soothing Russian. As the hands reached his hips he forgot to breathe.

 

 

He did manage to gasp when Vlad's hands pulled down his jeans and reached his cock. Partly because the kiss ended and Vlad's mouth was following his fingers downwards. Adam wondered vaguely whether this should have been his role. There wasn't much he could do about it. Moving to a position where he could reciprocate didn't seem possible at the moment. Vlad's lips and tongue were giving him more pleasure than he'd ever dreamed of. An explosion of pleasure that left him shuddering and disorientated. He’d never known sex could be like this.

 

Vlad stood, and hugged him, holding him close. He felt at once safe and very far into danger. He tugged ineffectually at Vlad's belt, but the other man pulled away and led him to the bedroom, expertly stripping him and dumping him on the bed. Then he stood over him, undressing in fluid easy movements. Adam was mesmerised. Vlad was still hard. Adam found he wanted that cock in his mouth. Desperately. He reached up and pulled Vlad down beside him. Savoured the strangeness of sucking, licking, and then swallowing. They lay in each other's arms for a while, not talking, unless the occasional Russian endearments counted.

 

So, Adam thought, he'd wasted a lot of time. He was made for this, as he'd suspected way back in high school. But at least an expert was handling his initiation.

 

Vlad reached onto the floor for his jeans and pulled something from a pocket. Half smiling, his hair flopping over his eyes, he took a condom out of its wrapper and uncapped the tube in his hand. Adam watched him, thoughts seething.

 

Should he?

Probably not but….

Would he?

Almost certainly…

Would it hurt?

Did he want it?

Could he stop now?

 

Then Vlad was on top of him. Fingers searching, finding. One hand trailing across his inner thighs, tentatively, the other exploring his arse. Not so tentatively.

 

Adam tensed, every horror story about male rape he'd ever heard suddenly flooding his mind, then ebbing. This was Vlad.

The touch was insistent but gentle. He'd dreamed of this. Vlad's fingers were inside him now and Adam, considering the inevitability of everything, relaxed. But Vlad stopped, his face questioning.

 

"What?"

"Don't…"

"Don't what?"

"Don't stop. Please. But…"

"But what?"

"I've never…it's the first time…"

"I am knowing. You are enjoy."

 

With that, Vlad repositioned Adam's legs and reached for the lube. Adam felt a moist coolness and Vlad kissed his forehead. Then pushed. Very slowly but very firmly. Used his other hand to stroke Adam's cock, by now aroused again. Adam managed not to cry out as he felt the other man's cock enter him. He tried to relax. All he could think of was his heart, pounding. Loudly. His body drowning out his brain. Meanwhile Vlad thrust. Moaned.

 

Somewhere deep inside himself, Adam reached the edge of an impossibly high cliff. Leapt. Soared. Tumbled in freefall to land softly in his lover's embrace.

 

And Vlad muttered words in Russian that sounded victorious, ending in a resounding, "Da!" before falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Note: English -Yes! Russian - Da!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Carpe Diem

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**13.Carpe Diem**

 

Adam surfaced from sleep to find Vlad wrapped round him. Vlad was still fast asleep, his eyelashes fanned on his cheeks and his lips near enough to kiss. When Adam tried to disentangle himself, Vlad held tighter. Still asleep. Adam considered. He peeled clasping fingers back carefully and moved slowly but firmly towards the edge of the bed. Vlad grabbed him. Adam sighed, planted a firm kiss on the lips and hauled himself out of the embrace.

"Where?"

"Bathroom."

"OK. Come back."

"Of course." He wasn't actually lying. He would go back, but he fully intended to make coffee first. He needed to pee, wash and attend to his caffeine intake - in that order.

 

He didn't bother with clothes. He owned a towel wrap, one of those Velcro-fastened nods to modesty, but he didn't think anyone was likely to ring the doorbell. So he padded around the flat naked. And returned with coffee to find Vlad awake, lying with his head raised against the headboard, very obviously enjoying the view.

 

"You said you come back."

"Well, here I am. With coffee."

"No tea?"

"No tea."

"OK. No tea. But kiss."

"Yes," said Adam. "That's easy," and a warm flood of desire drowned out the need for caffeine. He put the coffee on a table and leaned down to kiss Vlad again. It was better when he was awake - he kissed back.

 

Whereupon the coffee went cold while they re-enacted the experience of the previous night.

 

Eventually Adam produced fresh coffee and they drank it in bed, pressed close and enjoying the contact.

"We have three day," said Vlad sounding extremely satisfied. Then the phone rang.

 

It was Colonel Somerfield but the news was good. For some reason known only to senior personnel, they had an extra day - no work till Wednesday morning.

"Four days," said Adam, and told Vlad how he had wanted to go on a trip, a mini holiday. Partly to escape his feelings, but largely to explore the country they found themselves in.

"We could go together," he suggested.

 

When Vlad's phone rang, Adam stayed very quiet while Vlad took the same message from Bob.

"Where we go?" he asked, as he put the phone down.

Adam went to the computer. After a while he turned with a light in his eyes.

"Somewhere I've always wanted to see," he said. "The Mesa Verde National Park and the old abandoned Native American ruins. They're in Colorado."

"Is far?"

"About four hundred miles. We could hire a car. We could share the driving and we'd have about two days there. You *have* got an international driving license, I assume?" he added as an afterthought struck him. Vlad nodded and they began to plan the trip. One website gave them a planned itinerary and another arranged car hire.

 

By midmorning they were ready to go. Vlad went back to his apartment to pick up some more clothes and Adam went by cab to get the car. When he got back, Niki was waiting with Vlad.

"I take time off too," he said firmly. "I arrange. Is for me something I want seeing." Then he grinned at the look of consternation on Adam's face.

"I tell Vlad is OK. I not get between you. But I coming with." And with that he piled their backpacks into the trunk of the car and they set off. They felt, all three of them, like children let out of school - excited, and almost guilty about the unexpected treat.

"Now we really in America," said Vlad as they left Colorado Springs behind, and the others agreed.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

The journey was spectacular - they'd specified a scenic route. Adam decided it was, on the whole, good to have Niki with them. It meant he couldn't give in to the temptation to look at, and touch, his new lover. Instead, he concentrated on the scenery, which was magnificent.

 

So was Vlad, and so were his feelings. This was so new. Not just the relationship. Any new affair that lasts more than a night brings a dizzying desire for contact that only habit can cure. The whole thing was so new. And so forbidden by his old standards, but locking into his secret fantasies…and that, combined with the holiday spirit, made him giddy with happiness.

 

They stopped for something to eat near Salida. None of them had had breakfast and that was what they wanted, even though it was strictly speaking lunchtime. This was an eye opener. It was an old fashioned diner with American breakfasts that reminded them of old movies, or Twin Peaks, rather than the commissary. Some of the ingredients were strange; Adam had never had pancakes for breakfast, all of them made the discovery that biscuits simply weren't, and the waitress had difficulty interpreting their preferences for eggs. But they all left replete and revitalised.

 

The only difficult moment came on the side trip to the men's room, when Adam had to leave quickly to cover his reaction to Vlad. Niki thought it was hilarious.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The views were glorious. High mountain peaks and unexpected valleys. Very little traffic because they'd steered clear of the major highways. Some of the roads were narrow but by European standards they were fine. By early evening they were booking into the Best Western Turquoise Inn, just twenty-eight miles from their destination. It was the last comfortable hotel shown on the printout and they decided to make it their headquarters. They could enjoy the drive there and back.

 

The clerk was almost a problem. He offered a room for the three of them and when they refused he pointed out that it was cheaper. Vlad saved the day. He pointed dramatically at Niki.

"He is making noise," he said. "Like pig," he added helpfully, and as Niki snorted he nodded vigorously.

"You are hearing," he said, and even the clerk had to grin. He gave them two rooms and they went to settle in and freshen up. Niki was spluttering and Adam could hardly control himself.

"You," said Niki. "You is the pig," but he was laughing too much to say more.

 

The hotel, to Adam's relief, was similar to the ones he knew in England belonging to the same chain, and boasted a very acceptable restaurant, so they spent a pleasant evening having dinner and then drinks. There was plenty of vodka.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

In the bedroom, he felt unaccountably shy again, but Vlad hugged him and undressed him, slowly this time, spending ages on every inch of his body, and bringing him to the brink of orgasm over and over again.

 

When the Russian turned him over, parted the cheeks of his arse and kissed him, Adam thought he might die, of equal parts of shame and pleasure. This was so exquisite, so intimate, and at the same time so much a break with every taboo he had ever known. And now Vlad's tongue was exploring him, licking, probing. He heard himself whimper and then floated away on a tide of sensation that he'd never imagined in his wildest thoughts. Rocked by his own reactions, he was aware, as if in a dream, of Vlad entering him, of Vlad's orgasm and the stillness after. This time, it was Adam who clung, and entangled himself with his partner.

 

"Ya lublu tebya," he heard him say. He had no idea what it meant, but it sounded good. And for the second night together, they slept.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Next morning they were treated to a Best Western breakfast. The philosophy of the chain is that a good breakfast sets their customers up for the day, and the three young men soon felt they'd need nothing more before evening.

 

They were on their way. To a site all of them only knew from books and television, but that beckoned like a dream, and led them into the labyrinth of America's distant past.

 

 

 

 

 

_Note: Ya lublu tebya - I love you. N.B. I have used an English transcription rather than Cyrillic characters. Anyone who wants to help is more than welcome, but actually, Adam heard it rather than read it so it probably doesn't matter!_


	14. Mesa Verde

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**14.Mesa Verde**

 

The drive across the plateau to the Mesa Verde site was exciting in itself. The name means 'green table' and the trio found it hard to imagine the plateau covered in farms and crops. It was now purely a national park, devoted to tourism and archaeology. Their first stop was the visitor centre where they got all the information available in leaflet form and planned their day.

 

They decided to visit The Spruce Tree House, because it was still summer and they could go there without a guide. Adam, in particular, hated guided tours and always explored without their benefit if possible. He liked to feel he was one of the original inhabitants, something that was less possible with a twenty-first century commentary in his ears. Besides, he could read.

 

Their other choice was the Cliff Palace, the largest cliff dwelling in North America, on a guided tour with a ranger. They chose it instead of the Balcony House because it was the biggest, though the Balcony House looked enticing, with the long wooden ladders for access. However, they couldn't do everything. A party was about to leave for the palace and that suited them. Niki pointed out that they could pick the ranger's brains before setting out on their own exploration. The tour would also help them to orient themselves on the site.

 

Their vehicle was approved and they followed the convoy to the starting point of the tour. All of them were used to off-road driving in Europe, but Adam ended up taking the wheel. He was exhilarated by the imminence of something that had always just been something in books. Something exotic and intriguing and old.

 

The Anasazi had lived on the plateau and in the sandstone caves between 600AD and some time in the fourteenth century, when they had inexplicably up and left. The ranger suggested drought - the plateau had meagre water supplies and even a people used to conserving every drop would have found it hard to cope with a seriously dry year. Vlad suggested Goa'uld in a low voice and the others were hard put to it not to laugh. Tour guides, in Adam's experience, had little sense of humour. The 'high civilisation' of the ruined palace belonged to the last seventy five years or so of the seven hundred year history and was in some ways reminiscent of Mohenjo Daro in Pakistan, with its city living, sophisticated techniques and mysterious abandonment. They talked about the Goa'uld idea quietly. It might bear looking into when they got back to base.

 

The palace looked like a toy village from a distance, and even in among the ruins the size was disorientating. The doors were too small, the paths too narrow…It appeared that like their counterparts in mediaeval Europe, the Pueblo Indians had been slight. Adam remembered small suits of armour and Niki mentioned museum costumes with tiny waists. Poor nutrition? Evolution? It was amazing to think these people had built cities and palaces, behaving much as the 'old' world did, and had then disappeared, leaving their descendants to be mocked as savages by the brash new Americans from that same 'old' world.

 

Adam was reminded of modern day Setenil, in Andalucia, its houses built under and into the cliffs, almost invisible until the visitor drove down the winding roads. These buildings were even less accessible, requiring climbing and scrambling to be appreciated. But they were beautiful, meticulously constructed from bricks with mortar and traces of a kind of plaster or paint finish. Archaeologists were working as they watched, trying to explain and celebrate the ruined palace.

 

The tour was interesting but all-pervading. They were never allowed to forget their modern setting and submerge themselves in the history. There were too many people, as well. Archaeologists, tourists, guides …Adam tried to imagine real people living here, eating, working, fucking …The guide’s voice intruded and he gave up.

 

Back on the road, they headed for the Spruce Tree House, glad to be free of the restrictions of a guided tour but glad, too, to have learnt a little more about this intriguing place. Adam had already checked that his friends knew as much and as little as he did. The so -called house, more like a compound or hamlet, had been discovered, of course, by men searching for strayed cattle. They took turns nominating other similar 'finds', starting with the Lascaux Caves, and ending with the terracotta army in China. Niki wondered aloud why it was that archaeologists and historians never seemed to find anything on their own. Stray cows or dogs seemed such a hit and miss way to discover the past.

 

The house itself was fascinating, and they explored every corner. Niki tactfully distanced himself so that Adam and Vlad could wander hand in hand, enjoying the ruins and each other. When Adam's mobile rang, he stared at it in disbelief, but answered it. After all, it could be an emergency. It was Siler, who obviously had an emergency of his own.

"Where are you, Fenwick?"

"In the Spruce Tree House at Mesa Verde."

"So you can't come down and help me?"

"Not exactly right now."

A long silence, then a sigh.

"Look, Sergeant, I'm on holiday. Seeing something of your country for the first time."

"For the first time?"

"Yes, and I'm officially on leave, however brief."

"Sorry. I hadn't realised. Enjoy yourself." Another sigh and he cut the connection.

 

"Stargate Command is owning you now, English," said Niki, who had rejoined them when he heard the phone.

"Then they are fighting me, I think," growled Vlad.

Adam laughed, and wondered how Vlad would fare against GCHQ in England. They owned him - had done since he'd signed the Official Secrets Act. But holidays were still allowed.

 

So, it seemed, was pleasure. Vlad pulled him into one of the tiny rooms and checked in a half-hearted fashion that nobody was near before holding him close and pushing gentle but insistent hands beneath the waistband of his jeans. A finger trailed between his buttocks then slid round the top of his thigh, lightly touching his balls and sending insane messages to his cock. Adam undid the button at his waist before it came off, and then gave himself up to the sensation of being explored. They were highly aroused by the time Vlad unfastened both zips, held their cocks together and brought them to an almost simultaneous climax. Possibly the gods of the place were watching over them – at any rate, they managed to avoid staining their clothes. Adam wondered if the old inhabitants of the room had experienced such happiness.

 

Then they heard Niki calling and walked out to meet him, deliberately brushing their fingers against each other as they went, tiny sparks of desire still arcing between them.

 

They stayed till dusk, extracting every ounce of enjoyment from their day. They might never come here again. Adam still hadn't come to terms with the vast distances between everywhere in America. It was a new concept for someone from an island that could be traversed from end to end in less than a day by car (assuming more than one driver). The Russians were more used to the idea and Vlad reminded Adam that the stargate took them even further in no time at all.

 

Vlad drove back while Niki and Adam watched out of the windows till the park seemed just a dream.

 

Dinner was good, and the wine was an excellent Californian. Adam felt mellow and happy till he remembered it was his evening for calling his mother. The Russians assured him that mothers were important, and he rang to tell her that yes, he was enjoying a few days off and was exploring America with some colleagues. She seemed more interested in the Best Western Hotel, forgetting that it was part of an originally American chain. Adam felt embarrassed by the banality of the conversation but Vlad reassured him.

"Even St. George is having a mother, English," he said.

"So what did she say when he went off to fight dragons?"

"Maybe she is asking if he take clean underwear." Vlad looked contemplative.

"I am thinking is more trouble when he is bringing home princess," added Niki. "Much work."

And Adam laughed as he tried to picture a princess in his mother's small modern flat.

 

Niki yawned ostentatiously and headed for bed. Adam felt suddenly shy. They were turning into a couple and it was all too new, too soon. Vlad must have sensed his mood. He ordered another bottle of wine and they carried their glasses through to the easy chairs in the bar area. They chatted easily with some of the other tourists about the ruins and the Anasazi then Vlad glanced at Adam.

"Is early start tomorrow, English," he said. "Am thinking is bedtime." With that, they left the bar and went upstairs.

 

………………………………………………

 

The journey home was as good as the outward trip. Mountains loomed close and threatening, then retreated, snowcapped and remote. The sun shone and the roads were almost empty. The slow speed limit imposed in the United States acted as a soporific and Adam dreamed his way through the ranges. Vlad, who was driving, was fortunately unaffected. When they stopped for a late lunch, Adam bought a postcard of dazzling peaks that would be sure to please his mother and another of Mesa Verde for Emma. He hadn't thought of Emma since the barbecue, and she seemed as remote as the mountain tops, or as the fourteenth century Indians. He would post the cards in Colorado Springs - they would probably go sooner that way.

 

As soon as he reached his apartment, late in the afternoon, Siler was in touch again. He really needed Adam. Adam was irritated but resigned. He took a taxi to the base while Vlad and Niki returned the hire car. The problem was easily solved, in Adam's opinion, but the men who watched him were awe-struck at the way he sorted out their mess. It was late when he finally reached home.

 

He wasn't certain whether to call at the Russians' apartment or phone Vlad. They hadn't made an arrangement and he was still unsure of their relationship. Not the sex. Just the relationship. But he had no sooner switched on the lights and the kettle than the door buzzer sounded. Vlad appeared to think he lived there. He walked in, shrugged off his jacket, gave Adam a brief kiss and settled on the settee. Adam made coffee - he still hadn't had time to buy tea - and went to check his e-mails.

 

His face must have registered shock, because Vlad was there at once, reading over his shoulder.

 

Dear Adam,

Your mother and I have been talking and we think it isn't really sensible for you to come home for Christmas.

 

(Well, thank goodness for that).

 

You should experience as much of American life as possible while you're over there.

 

(Not to mention Russian. And alien).

 

Instead, I've decided to spend my holiday out there with you. I've booked my flights and I'll be joining you in the middle of October. Don't worry about the size of your flat. I'm sure we'll manage. I'm really looking forward to it. Till then,

Love,

Emma.

 

…………………………………………………………………….

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. ...season of mists...

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**Part 6. In which musical training proves useful**

 

**15.….season of mists….**

 

The call to the briefing room next morning was almost a relief.

 

Vlad and Adam were still getting to grips with Emma's bombshell - only three weeks from explosion point.

Sharon was still breathing - just - after a sultry weekend with Teal'c.

Ron had been to see his folks, and had remembered why he'd left home in the first place.

Bob had enjoyed an ordinary, family-oriented few days. He *thoroughly* enjoyed them when they were few and far between, but felt stifled by too much domesticity and the strain of keeping his work secret.

So they all turned to General Hammond with genuine smiles of welcome.

 

Which faded a little as SG1 followed him in.

The two teams were to 'baby-sit’ (Jack's term) a small group of biologists who wanted to explore a planet found recently and known to be covered in dense vegetation.

"Not trees," Hammond said, forestalling comments.

The MALP had shown vines, shrubs and fleshy plants that cried out for investigation. If the Amazon basin held medical secrets beyond their dreams, what might they find here?

"And B2Z-430 is so much more accessible than most of the Amazon," said Sam.

 

The biologists in question were introduced. Well, reintroduced so far as some of them were concerned. Hammond had asked Dr. Bill Lee to put a team together. Lee had worked with SG1 in the past, and so had Lieutenant Menard, picked for his military standing as much as his scientific background.

"The group will be taking samples and making notes," Bill told them. "The serious research will be done on earth, later." The final selection had acknowledged the need to involve international partners. Dr. Jean-Pierre De Bretenoux had never been off world but was a biologist of some repute. His inclusion would please the French and add scientific credibility to the mission.

 

He was also a complete surprise. Taller than Teal'c, and slightly broader, he was nobody's stereotype of a Frenchman, not least because of his satiny black skin. It also appeared that he spoke perfect English, with what sounded like an English accent to everyone except Adam.

"West Indies?" Adam hazarded a guess.

"Martinique," he confirmed and added when they all stared, "It's a Departement of France, you know. We even use the euro. And I have an EEC passport."

 

……………………………………………………..

 

After the briefing, in which Hammond had placed O'Neill in overall charge, the teams, one team for the time being, got ready to depart. The scientists had what Jack considered to be too much equipment but Hammond overruled him. Sam, excited to be with a scientific group, was firing questions at both the men she knew. Teal'c looked bemused and Jonas was, as usual, scurrying around, trying to endear himself to everyone, like an outsize puppy.

"Have you worked with them before?" Adam was less than sure of his team's past history. Vlad shook his head.

"Only Teal'c, in weapons training," he said. "He is saying they good. Their colonel is special, I think."

"Well, we'll see," said Adam. He brushed his hand surreptitiously against Vlad's and they grinned at each other.

"Not as special as you, St. George." Vlad carried on fastening his boots.

 

Bob liked Jack. They had a lot in common and usually saw eye to eye. He didn't mind deferring to him on this mission - someone had to be in control. Jack wasn't fond of the Russians but Vlad might change his mind. The bigger group would give Ron some much -needed experience. As for Sharon and Teal'c - their new relationship hadn't exactly escaped his notice. He just hoped it would stay under wraps - perhaps not the best metaphor - whilst off world. Adam was harder to assess. Bob liked the quiet Englishman, his weapons ability and his unassuming demeanour. He wasn't sure how he'd gel with SG1 but then remembered he already knew most of them socially. If Teal'c could be pried away from Sharon he'd probably play diplomat - blend them all into a true team. If that didn't happen, it would be Jack's responsibility, and for once, Bob could enjoy a mission with a sense of freedom. He ignored the scientists. He would baby-sit because SGC asked him to. They were Jack's worry.

 

Jack was not at all worried. His SG1 was good enough to take on anything the universe could throw at them - they'd proved that time and time again. The backroom boffins would no doubt be trying in every sense but he trusted himself and Bob Summerfield to keep them under control. He wasn't worried about Teal'c and Sharon, either. In fact he was mildly pleased for his friend. He was still sizing up Vlad and Adam as they headed for the gate room. Europeans. A closed book. Probably as alien as the Asgard, but despite a tendency to distrust Russians, he'd keep an open mind.

 

……………………………………………………….

 

 

"They didn't tell us it was a sauna." O'Neill sounded personally affronted. Even Jean-Pierre, P'tit Pierre to his friends at home, on account of his height, and Johnny to his new friends in USA, was taken by surprise.

"Hotter than the jungle in the rainy season," he said. "Let's hope there are no snakes."

"Goa'uld?" Jack automatically went on the alert and Jean laughed.

"No, the kind that live in trees and leaf litter. But they won't usually attack you if you don't attack them. And the MALP saw no signs of anything big so I think we can rule out boas."

 

The ground steamed. Mist coiled round the incredibly green greenery. Really, there wasn't any other way to describe it. Green. Green that made the usual trees look like a desert. Green that attacked and seduced and…Green that was hot. Sauna hot. Jungle hot. Certainly, thought Adam, enough green to keep the scientists happy for a while. And enough, thought Jack, to drive the military to despair, trying to see through the mists and branches.

 

One problem was that plantland started at the gate. No mid-distance view to prepare them. No view at all. And no clear ground. No-one wanted to camp in the open - open being a debatable term. Should they use the machetes they'd brought? Perhaps not yet. When Summerfield suggested weaving nests or hammocks in the vines, he was firmly shouted down, by everyone.

 

"Hey! Over here!"

It was Jonas, with Ron in tow, who found the rocks. They formed a gully, just to the right of the gate. Although it was filled with greenery, so much so that it had not been immediately visible, there were overhangs that in places created an illusion of caves, mossy but with space to move. The explorers settled into one of these with sighs of relief.

 

They were able to erect tents and change their clothes. The MALP had shown heat, so they'd come in tropical kit. Now they took off as much as possible, retaining belts and pockets to carry water flasks and weapons. After a brief rest, some long drinks, and a liberal coating of anti-bug spray all round, they began their mission tasks. The scientists would direct the others to plants of interest and everyone could collect samples.

"Don't forget to wear gloves." Bill was firm, despite the groans. "No rashes or reactions if possible."

At least two of the military would stay on watch at all times and nobody was to go out of Jack's hearing. Originally, he said sight, then realised this wasn't an option. Sound was strangely muffled in their new green world but it did carry, and he thought he could rely on them to stay close.

 

Bill took Sam and Jonas as his assistants. Teal'c and Sharon followed Jean-Pierre. That left Adam and Vlad helping Joe Menard while Ron was assigned to finish unpacking and straightening out the camp. Jack and Bob took the first watch.

 

When they met again after an hour, and gave their reports, Bill was guardedly enthusiastic. There was an enormous variety of plant life, some of it superficially similar to earth forms and some totally unclassifiable. They had started to collect and label some of everything. Leaves, petals, seeds and stem scrapings went into sealed containers. Photographs of the entire plant or at least the part they could see, together with temporary names based on their initial reactions, accompanied the samples. Joe reminded them that sometimes, on earth, permanent names were given based on these early labels.

"Just think," said Sam, " Rosa Samantha. That has a good ring."

"There's a clematis with a vaguely Jackish name, already," Jack offered, earning himself some strange looks.

Teal'c and Jonas, at this point, had to have the whole system of plant classification and the naming of new specimens explained, which took some time, and quite a lot of amusement.

Until Ron said, "I wonder what they call themselves," and blushed wildly when everyone stared. He explained that while he was unpacking, alone, or at least not talking to anyone, he'd felt the greenery crowding him and willing him to understand….something.

"I know it's fanciful," he said, "But I'm not a fanciful person, and it's what I truly felt." Vlad, however, reminded him of the turtle and the conversation broke up in laughter.

 

They ate, as usual, from ration packs. Nobody was willing to clear the local vegetables as edible. Bob had brought some cards and got Jack, Bill and Joe to join him. Adam and Vlad were on guard duty. The others chatted or rested, sipping coffee that tasted better than it looked. Everything reflected green.

 

Nothing happened. Slight rustles in the leaves turned out to be slow green insects, large clumsy versions of shield bugs. They showed no interest in the alien group and shambled off when a torch beam hit them. Humming sounds reminded Vlad and Adam unpleasantly of arrows, but were identified as coming from bat-like creatures, equally shy of the light.

When Teal'c backed up Ron's 'fancy', they all laughed uncomfortably. But nobody agreed or disagreed.

 

………………………………………………….

 

Sharon was sharing a tent with Sam. It wasn't a choice, just the result of there being only two women on the expedition. They took first watch of the night, an arbitrary night, based on earth time. Sharon wished she could be with Teal'c. An unrealistic wish. But still . . . After two uneventful hours they woke Teal'c and Joe. The lieutenant would take his share of military duty unless it conflicted with his scientific mission. The 'all's well' report was delivered in a whisper and the women sought their sleeping bags gratefully. Heat is tiring.

 

Sam had meant to question Sharon about her affair. Like Jack, she was pleased for Teal'c, but wanted to get to know Sharon better, make sure she was the right girlfriend for 'their' alien. But before she could formulate a question, she was asleep. Girl talk would have to wait.

 

Sharon was tired but her thoughts were on a treadmill. The weekend. Teal'c's iron arms around her. Endearments in an unknown language. A sense of being protected, watched, wanted.

 

She shivered, an odd sensation in the heat. Someone *was* watching her. Sam's eyes were closed. Maybe the guard had passed the tent. Teal'c was on guard. Teal'c. The weekend. She dozed, waking occasionally in the half light, sipping from her water bottle, day dreaming herself back to sleep. Teal'c. His arms. A sense of being wanted. . .

 

A sound like a zipper opening brought her fully awake and sitting. There was no one at the tent door but a long rent in the roof showed the source of the sound. A branch swayed near, thorns big as thumbs scratching on the fabric. The sense, again, of being watched.

 

Then the welcome voices of Ron and Jonas waking the two colonels for the pre-breakfast stint. Sharon lay back. Sleep was gone but she rested, secure in the knowledge that people were indeed watching over her. Her thoughts drifted between Teal’c and the mission. Thoroughly awake, she could consider both with happiness and interest.

 

The sense of security was breached suddenly.

 

Sam woke, shaking her head and grunting something unintelligible. The shakes grew wilder and Sharon couldn't get any sense out of her companion. Sam pawed at her right ear and moaned.

"It's marching in hobnailed boots," she said. She was adamant that it wasn't a dream. There really was something in her ear. Walking. She could hear it. Feel it. She wanted it *out*. *Now*.

 

Sharon went for help. She didn't feel up to calming and investigating at the same time. Teal'c was with them in seconds, torch in hand. He shone it in Sam's ear, while Sharon held her hand and made inane but soothing remarks.

"There, there," and, "It'll be OK." After a moment Teal'c and Sharon stared in disbelief as one of the shield bugs, a baby, judging by its size, poked its head out of Sam's ear, saw the light, almost retreated, then scuttled out and down, beneath the sleeping bag and out of sight. Teal'c managed to say something bracing, to stop both women being sick, then got out of the tent taking deep breaths himself. Sam dressed, shaking everything as she picked it up. The little bug was under one of her boots. Sharon flicked it out of the doorway and they finished getting ready. The tear in the roof had evidently let the bug in. Sharon glared at the thorns and felt, stupidly, as though they glared back.

 

The others were suitably impressed by Sam's bravery, Sharon's quick thinking, and Teal'c's resourcefulness. Although now that it was all over, the event gave rise to some jokes.

"You are talking to your passenger? Asking for its ticket?" Vlad's joke might have been in poor taste but it relieved the tension. Bob said something weak about bees in the bonnet. Adam managed to stop himself relating English stories about earwigs. No-one had anything else to report. Adam and Vlad had shared a larger tent with Jack and Bob, and Adam wished his night had been less uneventful. However, this was work. The women's tent was mended and everyone made a mental note to check for 'creepy crawlies'. Sharon and Sam moved their tent slightly further from the thorns but space was limited and it was probably a waste of time.

 

Bill allotted the day's tasks and handed out equipment. He was careful to change the partnerships. Teal'c had been frowning at Jean-Pierre after their work together and it seemed prudent to put Sharon in a team away from the biologist. Johnny had a tendency to flirt with anyone available and might not have realised that Sharon wasn't. Available. Teal'c might feel better if he stayed by her side. The alien wasn’t likely to make a fuss but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful. Both colonels joined Jean-Pierre and Sharon went with Joe and Teal'c. Adam and Vlad were on duty.

 

They enjoyed being together, not speaking, but glancing occasionally. Their involvement wouldn't interfere with their watch but their closeness added piquancy to the work detail. Adam frowned when he realised he could feel eyes on him permanently. Vlad had his back to him at times. The others were concentrating on their sampling and labelling tasks. The bats? The bugs? Ron's 'presence' in the greenery? He shrugged and smiled at Vlad who was coming back towards him.

 

By lunch time, they had all felt the watching. All afternoon it grew stronger, but there was nothing to see, to find. Ron and Sharon described a yearning that Jack scoffed at. Vlad and Jean-Pierre both recalled explorers in wild places, the steppes or the jungle, being convinced that they were under surveillance, but that was after weeks, or at least days, usually of solitude. The only thing they could do was ensure nobody was ever alone. Even when they needed to relieve themselves they must stay together. Sharon and Sam were of course partnered. So the groupings switched again, but otherwise the day wore on without incident.

 

"We're joining Jean-Pierre and Ron. There's room in their tent." Sam told Jack rather than asking. Jack approved. Teal'c was back in glower mode but couldn't quite bring himself to disrupt the entire sleeping plan. Not that he had much intention of sleeping. Not if Sharon was in danger. Or any member of his team. He and Joe took first watch.

 

Adam and Vlad managed a goodnight kiss before Jack and Bob came to bed. Adam sighed. Another uneventful night lay ahead.

 

 

 

 


	16. ...a lovesome thing...

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**16\. ... a lovesome thing . . .**

 

Adam couldn't sleep. Being so near Vlad and so impossibly separated was only part of the problem. He found the heat intolerable. Sticky. Draining. And the sense of being watched hadn't left him, which was stupid considering that they were in a tent. The others were asleep. He could hear their soft breathing, and, in Bob's case, occasional snores. But of course they were all military. Probably trained to sleep under any circumstances. He turned over for the umpteenth time and tried to lie still. There was a persistent scratching sound, almost at the limits of his hearing. Something crawling across the roof of the tent, no doubt. Nothing to worry about. But enough to irritate.

 

Sharon was restless again too. She was guiltily aware that Teal'c was aware of her interaction with the Frenchman. But really, she hadn't been flirting. Or only a little bit. To make him feel welcome. And there was no way she and Sam were going to stay on their own and this tent was the one with room, so . . . She glanced at her watch. Teal'c and Joe would be on duty just now. Watching the branches; watching the sleepers. There were different ways to punctuate that sentence and she shivered slightly. There was a sound. Not a full unzipping like last night. More one or two hooks of a zip. She had to have dreamt it. Get a grip, girl, she told herself.

 

Teal'c patrolled with Joe. There were more insects at night. And more bats, or whatever, hunting. Nothing seemed particularly hostile. Even the shield bug that had invaded Sam's ear hadn't bitten or stung. Probably as alarmed by them as they were by it. The air was warmer than ever and the branches were moving. But there was no breeze. Teal'c spun in a full circle, trying to pinpoint the threat. Joe turned towards him then towards the tents.

 

The thorns made clean tears in the fabric. The branches moved gently. Dipped in slow but inexorable motion through each rent. Grasped. Secured their prizes.

 

For a moment, Adam believed he was dreaming as he saw Vlad lifted out through the slit, still cocooned in his sleeping bag. Sharon knew she was awake, and tried to rise but was pushed back by the thorns as Sam swung through the roof.

 

Teal'c and Joe were pointing their weapons, fairly uselessly, as the others piled out of the tents, alerted by Sharon's yells. Anything they did was going to do more damage to Sam and Vlad than to the plants that held them. Cutting the stems might be an option but Jack was reluctant to order that until they knew more. There were thorns crowding the campsite, vines equal in diameter to human arms. Sam was held in a cuplike bloom, her face and shoulders showing. Vlad was twined in a cats' cradle of whip-thin briars. Both of them looked frightened, but not, thank goodness, in pain. Neither of them spoke.

 

O'Neill went through the rigmarole of introducing themselves and their mission. To plants. Bob was reminded of Ron's turtle. Adam's heart was somewhere in his feet. They all looked pale with shock. Or at least green - some pale and some dark. Bill reflected on how black skin showed the same colour changes as white, just displayed on a different background.

 

Then the jungle writhed. The air cooled and there was a whisper, a sliding. Vines coiled. The two prisoners, hostages, whatever they were, disappeared from view, passed from branch to branch, still in their thorny bindings, further into the green and out of sight.

 

…………………………………

 

 

There was no more sleep, no more sentry duty. The one thing they all wholeheartedly wanted was to retrieve their companions. The one thing they had no idea how to accomplish.

 

Teal'c had had the presence of mind to mark the direction in which the jungle had swallowed their friends. Now he replaced his staff, thrown pointing towards the path of that swallowing, with his sleeping bag.

"It is easy to lose all sense of direction in a place like this," he said. "No moon, no stars, no points of reference. We could turn round once and be lost."

"So we'll have to leave markers as we search. And leave people at the base, too." Jack sounded worried, calculating the best strategy for his search and rescue attempt.

"Bob, you stay here with Sharon, Bill, Joe and Adam. I'll take Jean, as my jungle specialist, with Teal'c, Jonas and Ron."

Adam looked mutinous and Jack recalled what he knew about the Englishman. A facility with weapons, especially staff weapons, and a strong friendship with the Russians.

"On second thoughts, I'll take Adam. Jonas, stay with Bob and the others. My team, bring weapons, and anything we can use to mark the way. Rope, string, whatever."

They dressed rapidly and set off, shouldering their way through the maze of vines. Adam hoped there was no minotaur in the interior.

 

………………………………………..

 

Vlad could feel the thorns smoothly separating him from his wrappings. The leaves touched the bag and clothes tentatively then they were discarded with a - shrug? Fine tendrils grew from the branches that bound him and he found himself further ensnared. Every part of his body was enfolded in a green tracery. It was tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. Except that it was mental torture. To his right, he could see Sam's face in the flower. Her sleeping bag and clothing had been tossed away too and were on the ground in an untidy pile. Her eyes met his.

"Can you move?" Stupid question really, but she need to speak to him, to make contact.

"If I am moving a little, is OK. If much, it is tighten. You?"

"Within limits. I seem to be free inside this flower, but if I try to raise my hands the petals - squeeze. And something has my feet."

Vlad felt more worried for Sam than for himself. He couldn't help seeing her prison as a giant pitcher flower, ready to digest . . . His own bindings were annoying but not immediately threatening.

"They come for us."

"Of course. Jack would never leave anyone. But we were carried a long way, and in this stuff, it may take them a while to find us."

"You are OK?"

"Yes. It - it seems to be stroking me with its - stamens? And there's a low humming noise. But yes, I'm fine. No injuries and I can feel all my extremities." She gave a quick, brave grin. The pitcher plant analogy had almost certainly occurred to her too.

"You?"

"It seem to be exploring me. The tendrils - they everywhere. But I not hurting. Just tickling a little bit."

"Any humming?"

"No, no humming."

There didn't seem to be much more to say. But they needed to talk, to stay in touch with each other. Vlad started to tell Sam about forests in Russia. About mushroom hunts on autumn mornings. The coolness. The quiet. Anything to distract them from the heat and their situation. Then a vine stretched up and wound round his head, closing his lips. Apparently they weren't supposed to chat.

Minutes passed.

 

"Vlad! It's bathing me in some sort of fluid. It doesn't sting or anything but I'm wet, and, and . . . "The last word was abruptly muffled as the flower seemed to gulp and Sam's mouth sank below the lip of the petals. Definitely no chat.

 

But he couldn't restrain a groan as the tendrils explored - and squeezed - intimately. The tendrils seemed to hesitate but he didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief. Emasculated by a vine? Well, perhaps better than total digestion. Sam's eyes looked reasonably calm. The humming she'd mentioned was loud enough for him to hear, now. It was quite musical. Like a lullaby. Though neither of them was in the least bit likely to sleep.

 

………………………………….

 

Jack's group was completely surrounded by jungle, forest, plant. Jack himself was holding a weapon, on full alert. Jean-Pierre was frowning. Plants on Martinique, or in the parks of Paris, where he'd studied, didn't kidnap his friends. Teal'c and Adam were forcing a road with their staffs. Ron was marking their trail. Suddenly, he stopped.

"Listen!" They were about to tell him he was imagining things but within seconds they could all hear it. A low humming. Gentle and terrifying. All around.

And beneath it, a fearful counterpoint. A human groan.

 

 

 


	17. ...vaster than empires and more slow...

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**17\. ...vaster than empires and more slow...**

 

The groan was unwelcome but it pointed the way to where Sam and Vlad were held captive. The top of Sam's head protruded from a giant flower. Her eyes were huge and brilliant. Filled with tears. Vlad was parcelled in green and was evidently in some distress. He groaned again as the vines squeezed tighter. Apparently in answer, he was rocked to and fro, though there was no breeze to sway the branches.

 

Adam winced in sympathy, and had to clench his fists and will his feet to stay still. He couldn't go charging to the rescue. St. George fought dragons, not vegetable plots. Jean took charge.

"Don't move more than you can possibly help. And try not to make any sound. It's reacting to your groans."

Vlad must have heard. At least there were no more of those agonised moans. Everything stood still.

 

"So how do we get them out?" Jack sounded angry. "We can't cut fast enough to prevent them strangling or suffocating them. And we can't use explosives or the hostages are taken out with the kidnappers."

"You're talking as if they're people." Jean frowned.

"Maybe they are people," said Teal'c. "We have seen some strange things in the universe. Why not sentient plants?"

"Adds a whole new dimension to talking to your pot plants," said Jack.

"But whether they are or not," said Adam, "How are we going to talk to them?"

Ron coughed.

"My mother," he began, and when nobody laughed he went on, "She talks to her plants. Sort of breathes on them and whispers. Sings, as well."

"The latest hits?" Jack was evidently dubious.

"No, folk songs, hymns, that kind of thing."

"Can anyone sing?"

 

Adam sighed. He'd never thought of himself as a professional singer, but he knew his voice was good. He sometimes accompanied his guitar - or accompanied his voice on his guitar. He'd just never expected a vegetable audience.

Tentatively, he began a song he'd known all his life. 'The Oak and the Ash.' It seemed vaguely appropriate. Everyone was silent. He had no idea if they were appreciative and didn't care. Only one listener mattered and that wasn't human. He hesitated when the song ended. What next? And was it even working?

 

Ron started up with a croaked rendering of 'The Green Leaves of Summer' and Adam joined in and took over. Jack began 'The Holly and the Ivy' and after the final verse, something like a whispered sigh rustled around them. Were the vines any slacker? They could see Vlad's lips now, unbound. He opened them to speak but Jean shook his head frantically and started a French folk song, 'Au jardin de mon père.' As he sang the line, 'Les lauriers sont fleuris,' the whispering came again and the petals of Sam's prison peeled downwards. Her face was wet, covered in slime, and her lips were bleeding where she'd bitten them.

 

Did the songs need to mention plantlife? Adam risked a few lines of 'The Blaydon Races,' but the unwrapping process was clearly halted.

"Lullabies! It wants lullabies!" Ron spoke with absolute certainty. "Slow, gentle, anything with a haunting quality!" And Adam started the Eriskay Love Lilt. The vines loosened their terrible hold and slowly, oh so slowly, Vlad was laid on the ground, still cradled, but less crushed. After that, they simply went back to the beginning again and repeated their repertoire, missing out 'Blaydon Races'

 

The flower drooped gracefully and Sam was deposited beside Vlad. She was almost unrecognisable, encased in a green gel. Vlad's vines drew back, reluctantly, or so it seemed to the team, and then there was a quick flurry of leaf litter, covering the two from neck to toe. A vine reached out and stroked their foreheads then trailed back into the main mass.

 

Silence,

 

A tentative move by Vlad brought a less tentative thorn to his side. Adam kept singing, low and sweet. Ron was accompanying him more confidently now. Years in the church choir had enabled him to pick up the words and the tune of almost anything and his tenor was pleasanter than his original effort had promised.

"Now what?" Jack's frustration was palpable. Jean took a deep breath and reached out to touch the nearest stem. It shivered.

 

For a moment they thought the jungle was claiming another hostage, but the vine simply laid itself on Jean's shoulder and continued to shiver. He was absolutely still, his eyes closed. The singing and the stillness were eerie but calm. Then the vine withdrew. So did the thorn touching Vlad, but it hovered.

 

"I read its mind." Jean sounded awed. "Or it planted images in mine." He grimaced at his unintended pun. "It's lonely. Lonely for love. Its mate died, shrivelled in a drought, I think. So did its children. It wanted children. We were small, feeble. It thought we might do." He stared round. "It was going to take all of us. This was just the beginning."

"It wasn't very good at childcare." Sam sounded subdued but at least she could talk.

"It was washing you. Annointing you with lotions. Special lotions to keep you supple and, well, and green." Everyone stared at Sam now, and she raised her arm through the leaf mould. Indubitably green. Not just a reflection. A stain.

 

"So what is my binding?" Vlad half sat, wary of the thorn, which didn't move.

"It wanted you to sleep. It was soothing you. Caressing you. Like we might stroke a baby." The look on Vlad's face almost stopped Adam's song. Almost. The danger wasn't over yet.

 

"It realised we were using lullabies. It hummed similar melodies when its children were small. It thought we were helping to get the 'children' to sleep. Then it realised they couldn't be children after all."

 

"And now?" Sam was the competent major again, still prone, still green, but thinking of the next step.

"It's sad. So sad. But I don't think it will try any more baby snatching!" Jean grinned at Vlad as he spoke and the Russian got to his feet in a mock attack. The thorn moved obligingly. Then everyone burst into relieved laughter at Vlad's nakedness and the reality of the escape. Adam joined in, and the songs stopped.

 

Vlad dressed quickly. His clothes were ripped and stained, but wearable, if you weren't too bothered about decency. They would do. Sam dressed too, rubbing at her stained skin, more embarrassed by her colour than her nudity. Her clothes were less torn but were damp and uncomfortable.

 

It was Ron who asked the awkward question.

"What are we going to do for it?"

"Why should we do anything?" Jack seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Jean-Pierre said it was sad. And we gave it some hope, and then took it away again. And it liked our music."

Jack walked over to the closest branch and put his arm around it. He looked up into the green for a moment then nodded and moved back to the group, smiling.

"I 'told' it we'll be back, with baby plants and technology to counter drought," he said. "I think it understood. I think we're free to go."

Sam shook her head.

"I never thought I'd see you hugging trees, Colonel," she said.

 

………………………………………………………….

 

The vines parted in a straight path back to the camp. The others were pleased, anxious, relieved, amazed. They packed up in almost indecent haste. Sam said she couldn't wait to get something that would remove the stain. Various suggestions, including pumice and bleach, were met with a withering stare and the certainty that Janet would know what to do.

 

Teal'c and Sharon only just refrained from hugging. Jack approved of their restraint. He noticed the way Adam and Vlad looked at each other and considered them in a new light. Thought about Adam's singing. What if it had been Daniel, or Paul? Could he have given a concert to the plants? He was glad they were all right. Hoped his major would soon be a more normal colour. Told Teal'c to bring up the rear, and led his expedition back to the gate.

 

Maybe they could relieve the loneliness of one being in the universe. Maybe in return they'd find medical miracles. The scientists were laden with samples and the plants didn't seem to mind. Maybe he could even get to like trees.

 

Adam had hardly spoken to Vlad. What could he say, with others listening? They headed through the gate and went to change. For a few minutes, they were effectively alone. Everyone was chatting, showering, dressing.

"I am thanking you, my Adam." Vlad spoke softly.

"I had to keep going - for you. For Sam, as well, of course, but for you."

"And I was trying not to be groaning, for you."

"Did it hurt a lot?"

"Enough."

"But you're OK now."

"Yes, now OK. And later you are kissing better."

"Aww, baby!" Adam's eyes shone with mischief.

"Is OK. You can calling me baby. Not anyone else. Anything else, I am meaning."

And they finished changing, and joined the team in the debriefing room.


	18. Friends and Lovers.

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**Part 7. In which our hero feels relief.**

 

**18\. Friends and Lovers.**

 

 

They had been home, or at least in Colorado Springs, which Adam was vaguely beginning to think of as home, for almost two days. Pleasant lazy days, eating, drinking, chatting. Socialising with friends. Exploring their American surroundings.

Adam wasn't sure which of them had suggested a nightclub but it had become a definite date for Saturday night and at the moment he was considering what to wear.

 

He hadn't actually had what he would call a date with Vlad yet. They'd been to places, especially bed, but including Mesa Verde and the Stargate commissary. Parties, too and barbecues. Only never an honest-to-goodness Saturday night date, just him and Vlad, going out together.

 

He knew perfectly well that he was reacting like a teenager, and didn't care. He surveyed his entire wardrobe with deep dissatisfaction, checked his bank account online and headed for town. And no, Vlad wasn't invited. Adam shopped for clothes alone. Serious clothes, that is.

 

He ended up with tight black pants and a silver grey shirt that showed off his white-blond hair. Black cowboy boots and a heavy leather belt with a buckle in the shape of a crouching dragon. He could wear his leather jacket if the weather was cool. Happy with his purchases so far, he continued window-shopping and found another belt, crocodile skin with a subdued silver buckle. Crocodiles, he'd read, were coming off the endangered species list because they were being sensitively farmed. He wasn't sure if it was true, but he liked the belt, and asked the shop assistant to gift-wrap it. He hoped Vlad would like it too.

 

It earned him a flurry of kisses and delayed dinner by quite a while. They'd promised to eat with Niki and by the time they got to the apartment the pizza had gone cold. Nobody cared. They discussed where they should go. Niki had heard of a small club that served meals and had good music. With dancing. And it was a known gay venue. They could join that evening and book a table for Saturday night.

 

As they made their way home, pleased to have their 'date' settled, Vlad's fingers found Adam's.

 

"In the street?" Adam was not so much shocked as worried for his partner. Much of America, much of the world, was homophobic, and besides, Vlad was military. Russian, but still. Vlad dropped his hand but muttered resentfully.

 

"Mine," Adam heard. "Mine for all to knowing." He grinned in the dusk and walked taller. He was happy to be Vlad's. Very happy indeed.

 

% % %

 

They admired each other's outfits and set off for the club. A young waiter, probably Italian judging by his accent, showed them to their table and they ordered drinks while they looked at the menu. Adam felt shy, all of a sudden. Why, he wasn't sure. Somehow, this seemed to be a crucial moment in their relationship, tipping it from friendship, lust and sex into something deeper, more lasting.

 

He was trying to read the small print under the dim lights when he heard Vlad draw in his breath sharply. He looked where his lover pointed. Two men were just entering the club. Two surprising men. Colonel O'Neill and Major Davies. Together. Very together. You only had to look at their body language and the way they kept glancing at each other.

 

They, of course, noticed Vlad and Adam. And came over. For an awful moment Adam thought they were going to suggest joining them. Not that he didn't like them, but . . .

 

But Jack O'Neill was simply making sure they all knew the score.

 

"Hi, fellas. Nice to see you here. Better than that vegetable nursery, huh?" He looked at Paul. "These two were with me on our last mission," he went on. "Fenwick kinda saved the day."

 

Paul nodded acknowledgement but was obviously as anxious to be alone with Jack as Adam was with Vlad.

"Maybe we could meet for a drink sometime and you could all tell me more about it." His voice was courteous but he was pulling at Jack's sleeve. Jack was not to be hurried.

 

"Don't know about your lot, Major," he said to Vlad, "But mine have this policy called -"

 

"Don't ask, don't tell. I am knowing this." Vlad was smiling. "Not worry, Colonel, there is nothing. I telling nothing. To nobody. And you too." And oblivious of his double negative he picked up his drink, a certain signal that the conversation was over. The pair moved away, shepherded by a harassed waiter who wanted his customers seated and organised. Vlad grinned at Adam.

 

"You were knowing?" he asked.

 

"No, but I sensed something. When he congratulated me, during the debriefing, on my singing. He said something about if he'd been in my place. But I'd heard that he and Daniel Jackson . . ."

 

"Perhaps. But they are hide very well. And the Jackson man he is not - living? And now is Major Paul. Am sure."

 

They ordered and ate. Steak, salad and baked potatoes. Simple food, beautifully cooked and served. And, as usual in the states, far too much of it. Adam had a theory that Americans were always worried about droughts and famine and ate huge main courses in case pudding never came. In this case, it didn't. They waved the sweet menu away and settled for coffee, Vlad bemoaning the lack of tea. Tea after dinner, Adam decided, was strange. Exotic, even. Russian, anyway.

 

Then they watched as a number of couples danced to the live band. It was liberating to watch men dancing together. Vlad pulled Adam to his feet and they did a kind of jive to the music. Then the musicians started a slower number and Adam was instantly in Vlad's arms. This was a very satisfactory date.

 

They were moving, but only just. Vlad held him so tight that their feet were inclined to tangle, and neither of them could see where they were going. The music was old-fashioned and languorous, and seeped into their bones. The melody of 'It's almost tomorrow' changed to 'Smoke gets in your eyes' followed by 'Love letters in the Sand.' Adam was in a dream, held in place by the Russian. When the band stopped for a break, he hardly knew where he was.

 

They ordered more drinks and sat down again. When the music restarted, Jack O'Neill was hovering, suggesting they swapped partners for the next dance. He thought, he said, that it would be a good idea all round if the four of them were friends.

 

Watching Vlad dancing with Paul almost made Adam bump into Jack as they moved onto the floor. He grinned ruefully and decided to concentrate on what he was doing. It was enjoyable and very, very strange, to be dancing with the colonel. Not only because Jack had turned out to be gay, but because he hadn't struck Adam as a likely dancer. He said as much and was treated to a lopsided grin and a short version of how Paul had persuaded him to change the habits of a lifetime. Adam laughed and decided to enjoy himself. Eventually, after a fast and furious version of 'Jailhouse Rock', they made their way back to the table. Vlad and Paul headed for the bar to replenish their drinks.

 

"You love him, don't you?" Jack spoke abruptly. Adam stared, then nodded.

"Be careful. He's not just military, he's Russian. You never know what they'll do. And don't expect it to last for ever. That's the way to heartbreak."

Adam stared some more. He knew O'Neill's opinion of the Russians in general. But Vlad?

"He - we - that is, we're important to each other." He knew he sounded defensive.

"Yeah. I'm just saying. People don't always stick around just because you want them to."

"Daniel?" Adam could see Jack's blush, despite the low lighting.

"Yeah, but your Russian, too. I never thought Daniel would leave me."

"But surely - I mean - he didn't intend to?"

"He had a choice. Or didn't you know that?" There was pain in Jack's voice. Bitterness too.

"But now you're with the major." Adam wasn't really sure what to say but wanted to bring them back to the present from what appeared to have been an unwelcome past.

"Be careful, is all. You hear me?" Adam heard him. Loud and clear. And for a cold, still moment envisaged life without Vlad. Then grinned in relief as the drinks arrived and with them the laughter and the love that he'd come to associate with 'his' Russian.

 

They danced some more then the Americans left and the band slowed into a last waltz. Adam and Vlad danced carefully and formally, gazing into each other's eyes. Then they took a cab back to their apartment, and made hot, violent love well into the night.

 


	19. A holiday Interlude

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**Chapter 19. A Holiday Interlude.**

 

Why was it, Adam wondered, that longed for events took their own sweet time to arrive, and disasters rushed into place at the speed of light? Emma would be here tomorrow.

 

They had held a council of war, and Vlad had agreed, after Niki had shouted at him, to move back to his old apartment. He had thought Adam would face Emma and tell her the truth. Adam, on the other hand, felt that Emma didn't need to know just yet, especially when she'd just spent a large chunk of her salary on a holiday in America. A holiday that would definitely be ruined if her boyfriend turned out not to have room in his flat for her. Even if the reason didn't freak her out. He would tell her. He truly would. After she'd gone home. A sort of Dear John letter. A letter that could refer to Vlad, someone she would by then have met. A letter that would let her down lightly, saying what a wonderful time they'd had.

 

"You are have wonderful time with this . . .this . . ."Vlad's English deserted him.

 

"Emma." Adam was patient. After all, it was Vlad who would have to move out. And he would miss him. Desperately.

 

"You are not to having so wonderful time! You are hearing me?"

 

"No, well. I don't suppose it'll be a picnic."

 

"You are have picnic?"

 

"No, it's an English phrase. Not being a picnic means things won't be easy."

 

"Emma. She is not easy? She does not liking the picnic?" Fortunately for Adam's sanity, Niki stepped in with some well-chosen translation, before collapsing in a fit of giggles. Vlad shrugged but looked mollified. Adam wondered how on earth they'd coped so far. The pitfalls of a relationship without a totally common language were manifold!

 

They agreed, thanks to Niki's diplomatic skills, that the Russians would keep a low profile. They would be there as friends, but not all-the-time, in-your-face friends.

 

And having sorted his romantic problems, Adam turned his attention to requesting more leave from duty.

 

 

General Hammond seemed surprised and not at first inclined to grant any leave at all. Adam explained about unexpected visits and the need to entertain Emma and the equally urgent need to keep Emma from inquiring too deeply into his work.

Grudgingly, he was given a week, and told he could remain on earth for the other two weeks of his girlfriend's visit. As he stammered his thanks, he noticed O'Neill in the doorway, giving him a strange look, but it was neither the time nor the place to explain. So he didn't. Don't ask, don't tell, could, he decided, well become his personal motto.

 

Over a cup of coffee he related his interview with Hammond, and its outcome, to a disbelieving set of friends. Everyone, it seemed, saw him and Vlad as a couple. Emma would be a complication in their lives as well as his. Sharon remembered her name from their first conversations, and offered, predictably, to take her shopping. When Adam said he didn't think Emma was into shopping, there was further disbelief all round. Then they rallied and started to tell Adam where to take her, and where all the tourist spots were, so he had to admit he'd seen none of them himself.

 

"You are going to enjoy yourself, Adam Fenwick," was Teal'c's considered opinion, and Adam began to hope he might be right.

 

He felt a sense of unreality as they tidied the flat and carried Vlad's things back to the place he had once shared with Niki.

 

"It's only for three weeks." He hugged Vlad as if they were about to be parted forever. Vlad kissed him and grinned.

 

"Go, St George. Be getting your dragon. Be brave, my English knight," was all he said.

 

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Emma arrived at the airport in the late afternoon, after an internal flight from New York, and Adam picked her up by car. He had gratefully accepted Siler’s offer to lend him a car for the length of Emma's stay. These American friends of his were good people. More open, more generous, perhaps, than a lot of English were. He felt thoroughly at home here, accepted in a way that was new to him and exceedingly agreeable. He wondered if Emma would notice the difference. She came out of the airport terminal, blinking in the bright sunlight, trailing a heavy wheeled case and looking around in a lost fashion that was very unlike her. Adam reminded himself that she'd just had a twenty four hour journey, from Newcastle via Manchester and New York, including airport waits and stopovers. He waved and crossed the roadway to meet her, kissing her cheek and using the suitcase as his excuse for failing to add any further endearments.

 

She exclaimed over the car, and exclaimed even more when he said it was a loan. Then they were off and her eyes were big with excitement. Her first glimpse of America. Her holiday had begun. It took just over half an hour to drive from the airport to the outlying area where Adam lived. He deliberately drove through the centre of Colorado Springs to give his passenger an idea of where she'd arrived. All the way, Emma was chattering. About the buildings, the signs, the traffic, and even the people. Adam was sympathetic. His own arrival, only a few months previously, had felt like stepping into another world. Almost as much so as stepping through the Stargate, though of course that comparison was strictly off limits. Considering that England and America had so much in common, the differences were startling, obvious and huge.

 

Emma approved of the flat. She particularly approved of the furnishings Sharon had helped him choose. She admired the picture of St. George, but without much warmth. She enjoyed the meal he'd bought - a simple quiche with new potatoes followed by ice cream. Not cordon bleu, but easy and satisfying. They had some wine too, a Californian 'blush' wine, lighter than a rosé but less ordinary than a white. Emma, as usual, had half a glass and sipped it slowly. She had never been a drinker.

 

She was exhausted by the journey, and by the seven-hour time difference, and was glad when Adam suggested she should go to bed. They had never slept together for a full night, and he could see the look of relief in her eyes when he showed her the single bed in the small bedroom and explained he'd be sleeping on the couch. Almost as great as the relief he felt that she didn't query the arrangement or suggest that he join her. He hadn't thought she would. She had never initiated their rare sexual encounters. But one never knew. She might have felt guilty at turfing him out of his bed, or thought she should show him some affection after their long absence from each other. Fortunately, she simply thanked him and began to unpack. He left the room and she closed the door. Minutes later she headed for the bathroom, well wrapped in a cotton robe with sensible pyjamas peeping from underneath. Her goodnight, on her way back, was cheerful, if somewhat sleepy, and the door closed again.

 

Adam read for a while. He looked longingly, first at the television and then at his guitar, but he didn't want to spoil Emma's chances of sleep, and he picked up a book with a sigh. The book, the first volume of Manda Scott's Boudica, combining two of his great loves, northern Britain and Rome, soothed him and eventually he was able to go to sleep on his couch without thinking too much about his other great love, his Russian.

 

 

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They had a whirlwind week.

 

They visited the Cave of the Winds and admired the stalactites. They hired horses from the Academy Riding Stables and rode through the red sandstone formations in the Garden of the Gods. (Adam expected to have saddle sores after that and his suspicions were well founded). Then they dined at the Balanced Rock café and Emma chose a bracelet at the jewellery counter in the 'trading post'. They took the cog railway to the summit of Pike's Peak, explored the ghost town at Wild West, and bought a gift for Adam's mother at the Van Briggle pottery next door to the museum.

 

Adam was glad when Emma turned down the chance to go white water rafting in Echo Canyon. His work held enough excitement and he preferred his holidays to be a little more staid and safe. They went to the Cheyenne Mountain zoo, advertised as 'the closest you'll get to Africa without a passport' and both of them were thrilled to feed some of the giraffe herd by hand. It was Emma who found out about the Manitou Cliff Dwellings, which resembled those at Mesa Verde, and Adam felt like an expert, showing her round. He was glad he'd been to the bigger site, not only because he'd been with Vlad, but also because the scenic drive had been wonderful and the whole experience had been amazing. Plus, he could bring the Manitou place alive for Emma.

 

Finally, they spent a day in the city, taking in shops, architecture and an exhibition at the Fine Arts Centre. Emma found a leaflet advertising a gold mine theme park, which they hadn't time to visit, and another for the 'North Pole Santa's Workshop', which had them in fits of laughter as they considered just how far from the north pole Colorado Springs was situated.

 

Vlad and Niki called, a 'friendly' visit, just as they were wiping their eyes, so the joke had to be shared, and the resultant snorting and spluttering served to hide the desperate looks Vlad gave Adam.

 

They ate at a different restaurant each night, choosing ethnic cuisines with care, learning new dishes and drinks. Mexican. Italian. American. Spanish. Sometimes one or more of Adam's friends joined them. Back at the flat, Adam played his guitar and Emma sang, Northumbrian and Scottish folksongs for the most part, with a few Dylan or Baez numbers thrown in for good measure. She seemed satisfied with the fun and the laughter. And the complete lack of any physical romance. Adam found himself unable to hug or kiss her. He had never been very demonstrative in their relationship but now he excelled himself. His kiss at the airport had been that of a friend, a greeting salutation. And that was all he could manage. Emma didn't seem to mind. Or even to notice. Adam suspected he was just an excuse to visit America.

 

On Thursday, after a particularly good evening, he felt somehow obliged to put his arm round her as they left the restaurant but when they reached the car, he noticed she appeared almost relieved to be separate again. Well, that was fine by him. And he wasn't going to question it.

 

The others had ideas about entertainment. Sharon offered a shopping trip for the weekend, despite Adam’s warning, and was amazed all over again to find Emma lukewarm about the idea. She'd thought it was simply Adam who didn't find retail therapy enthralling. So she and Teal'c suggested a foursome for dinner and dancing. Teal'c intrigued Emma but she was too polite to ask questions about his ‘tattoo’. They booked dinner for Saturday night and Sharon and Emma went to the bedroom to inspect Emma's clothes for a suitable outfit. Teal'c quietly updated Adam on news from the base. Neither team had been off world, but SGX were scheduled to go on Monday. Vlad was fine.

 

Adam was missing him more than he'd thought possible. He wanted to see him, to touch him and to kiss him, instead of which, on Sunday, he phoned him. And felt a dizzying sense of disorientation as he heard the familiar voice. It sent warm treacle through his veins and he hoped he didn't look as besotted as he felt.

 

"Vlad! I just wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow. Stay safe, you hear?"

 

"I am staying safe for you, St. George." There was laughter in the voice. "It is you who is being in danger, I think."

 

"No, I'm fine. Everything's going well. Emma's enjoying her holiday."

 

"Not too much enjoying," was the response, then Emma came into the room and Adam murmured conventional goodbyes.

 

"Someone important?"

 

"One of the team I work with. They're missing me. They'll have me back tomorrow!"

 

"You're working again?" Emma’s voice rose a notch. She knew Adam had work to do but she’d hoped he might have at least the first fortnight of her holiday with her.

 

"Yes. We'll make plans for things you can do on your own, or find someone who's off duty and can entertain you." Emma looked dubious but was soon distracted by talk of a party for the following Thursday or Friday. A party she and Adam would hold, for all his friends, at the flat. If she was surprised by the number of friends he'd made, she didn't say so, but she did say she wasn't sure she could cope with so many new people at once. All of them 'foreign' to Emma, on her first trip out of Western Europe. She was practical and capable, however, and they had soon worked out what they would buy, what they would cook, and what they would drink. Emma would enjoy arranging everything and buying the things they needed from the local supermarket. Orange juice figured high on Emma's list, and after a moment's thought, Adam decided that he, too, might be safer with a non-alcoholic evening. After all, Vlad would be there.

 

 

 


	20. A Silent Conversation

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**Chapter 20. A Silent Conversation**

 

Bob watched Vlad carefully as they gathered their kit. The Russian didn't seem quite his normal insouciant self. The lack of Adam appeared to be affecting him badly. But a cheerful disposition was not a prerequisite for gate travel and Bob decided to say nothing. Ron was cheerful enough for all of them. His confidence had increased since his part in the missions involving the movie set and the plant nursery, and he was, Bob considered, shaping up well. Sharon was bubbly, as usual, with an extra glow that probably owed something to the tall dark alien in SG1. Bob sighed. There were so many relationships to be aware of and so many possible problems. However, here they were, back to their original team, and ready to go.

 

They had known it would be cold. The MALP had shown ice and snow. The knowledge had only been intellectual, though. It is hard to feel temperatures in advance. And the high pitched moan of the wind set their teeth on edge as well as blowing flurries of snow from the drifts into their faces. All four were dressed in Antarctic blizzard gear, and looked for all the world like a set of fat Russian dolls, trundling across the featureless snowfield towards the cliffs that might just have mineral deposits, and even miners.

 

The only Russian among them muttered about Siberia and punishment and not seeing why a robot couldn't have done this. Bob, Ron and Sharon were trudging along, heads bent, silent.

 

Then the guards appeared.

 

They were almost comically round in their fur coverings, but there was nothing funny about the weapons they aimed or about the hostility in their flat black eyes. Bob tried to communicate, but to no effect. Gestures made it clear that they should accompany the guards to the cliffs. And as that was where they were headed anyway, they went willingly enough. Perhaps it would be easier to talk inside, out of this cold and the wind.

 

If anything, it was colder inside the cliffs. Bob had entered the cave opening almost eagerly, hoping for warmth and quiet, but both were denied. A path led downward between rough stone walls, slick with ice, and an eerie moaning prevented conversation. It was not the wind. It didn't sound natural. Every so often it would stop, then just as the ears accepted and welcomed the lull, it would start again, just at the lower threshold of hearing at first, but soon building to an all encompassing drone.

 

The path seemed endless. Bob knew that was a cliché, but it truly seemed as if they'd been walking for hours. He couldn't see his watch and he tried counting seconds but gave up. The noise interfered with rational thought. And it was getting louder. He could see the others, walking in single file ahead of him. Ahead of them, he knew there were two guards, and behind him there had been four. At a couple of side passages, more well wrapped figures had joined the little procession and he had no idea how many there were now.

 

If he tried to stop, or even to slow, the man behind him would simply push, and a fear of being trampled, by accident or design, kept him going. Then the leaders stopped, a kind of ripple effect staggered through the line and they were stationary. Nobody had knocked him down or even pushed him. The noise was deafening.

 

After a moment, the leaders moved again, but sideways this time, and the dim overhead lighting gave way to a glow from a massive chamber, deep in the heart of the hills. A slight push set him going again and they filed out onto a brightly lit gallery overlooking a monstrous tangle of machinery and an antlike scurrying of hundreds of men, or women, humanoids, at least, tending it. The noise came from the machinery and was magnified and reflected by the cavern walls. But there was no time to study the situation. They were led into a side room, equally well lit, where three fur coated figures sat at high metal desks and surveyed them with those same hostile eyes.

 

When Bob spoke, they ignored him. And they were not speaking themselves. It took a moment to realise that there would be no point. Human ears were not designed to hear in this atmosphere. The people at the desks were conversing, however, with the guards. In sign language. Their fingers protruded from gloves that ended at the final knuckle.

 

Then they looked at the team, their fingers flashing and wriggling in comment or question or command. It hardly mattered. Colonel Summerfield was not going to understand.

 

Ron, however, was looking hard at the finger work. After a moment, he removed his gloves and tried a tentative movement or two of his own. More flickering and maybe a hopeful look in one of the deskmen's eyes. Ron went slowly, but it seemed he was making progress. Trouble was, he couldn't communicate with his colonel. The noise prohibited speech. And the progress seemed achingly slow.

 

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Later, hours later, they collapsed on the floor of a bare room, where they had been shown once those in charge had gathered whatever it was they had gathered from Airman Potts. To everyone's relief, the noise was slightly muffled and if they sat in a close huddle and used lip-reading skills, they could, after a fashion, talk.

 

Ron told them what he'd learnt. The mining community was one of several on the planet. Several on this continent, at least. The ores extracted and packaged were sent as tribute through the Stargate. In return, the tribute takers left them alone. Ron had managed, he thought, to assure them that the team had nothing to do with tribute, but was a peaceful exploratory mission. It had been hard to explain that the Stargate might have more than one destination.

 

The miners and their ancestors had lived here for centuries. Every so often, a mine would run 'dry' and the scene of operations would start again, elsewhere. Usually, the Stargate would be moved, too. The machinery never broke down or stopped. Sometimes there were minor faults and parts would be sent through the gate for replacement. The men who repaired the machines were important, high caste, it appeared. No one could remember what would happen if the tribute was not paid, but the legends said that it would not be pleasant and there were 'graveyards' of frozen, unburied bodies, near mines that had 'failed'. Metal fencing surrounded these grisly piles and the sign for failure was shown in picture form every few yards. The display of corpses dismayed the miners, who buried their dead, even if only in deep snow. Writing was unknown, although the concept was understood. There was no time to read, write, learn or teach. Speech had fallen into disuse. It couldn't compete with the noise. Eventually, hearing was so damaged that speech would be useless, so children were simply taught sign language from an early age.

 

And that, finished Ron, was all he'd been able to grasp. The others were impressed. He'd done incredibly well. Apparently he had a younger sister who was totally deaf and had learnt American Sign Language for her sake, as had all his family. But the language used here was not the same and his fingers had stumbled and tripped before making such progress as he had.

 

It was enough. It gave them an understanding of the place and its people.

 

It seemed likely that this was a Goa'uld slave world, more effectively garrisoned by the climate than it could be by Jaffa. There was no way of knowing the name of the particular 'god' the tribute was sent to. Ron was unsure. He had got the impression of a powerful trading partner rather than a deity when the tribute was mentioned. And he had got nowhere asking what the miners intended to do about or with them. He was exhausted after his marathon signing session and the others were not in a much better state after standing so long. Food did not seem to be forthcoming, but they still had their packs, and they broke open their field rations with relief.

 

Immediately, a group of guards, possibly the same ones, but unrecognisable in their furs, stormed into the room and grabbed the packets of food. They left one water canteen and a stunned team.

 

"I guess that answers one question." Bob's grin was wry. "They don't intend to befriend us."

 

"And they believed Ron about us having nothing to do with the tribute." Sharon sipped the water thoughtfully. "They're not worried about offending us - or our home world."

 

Moments later, the lights, already poor in their room, or their cell, as they had begun to regard it, dimmed further. It was apparently bedtime.

 

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	21. Ice and Fire

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**SGX 21** **. Ice and fire. **

 

The night, if it was night, and the cold, seemed interminable. The noise was intermittent now but they were too tired to talk and instead dozed when they could, huddling together for warmth.

 

Eventually, the lights brightened and a guard came into the cell. He motioned them to their feet and led them back to what they thought of as the interrogation room. Ron was at the limits of his ability with the signing and Bob worried for him. He wanted the young man to have responsibility but this was a heavy load.

 

After a long and apparently fruitless conversation they were manhandled into yet another room and forcibly stripped of their garments. Resistance was pointless. Four against hundreds, deep inside enemy territory. None of them wanted to risk death in heroic defiance.

 

Then some odd machines were trundled in on wheels and the shivering group were herded onto a concave platform which was then swung into the air. As another platform, crowded with lumps of metal, rose to balance it, it dawned on all of them at once that they were being weighed.

 

One of the men opened out a large poster or chart. He was comparing their sale reading with something on it. On the back, towards them, with no attempt at concealment, was a picture. A fire, with an old fashioned pot. A diagram with figures something like a thermometer. And below that, a smaller diagram of what looked like joints of meat.

 

It didn’t take genius to work out what was going on. No friendliness, no food, an attempt to establish that they were alone or at least far from home, and now weighing, without any care for their welfare. The colonel felt sick. They should never have entered the cave system. Better to have fought the few guards outside than to end up on the menu for these people who served the Goa’uld willingly. His watch was with his clothes but he was aware that enough time had passed that Stargate Command would be worried by their lack of contact. He could only hope they would be worried enough to do something about it. 

 

Sharon’s eyes were fixed on him as if he could pull a magic rabbit out of a non-existent hat. Vlad’s eyes were closed and the Russian was muttering fiercely in his own language. Ron appeared to be praying.

 

‘Well’ he asked them softly, ‘Do we just die, or do we die fighting?’ He thought he knew what the answer would be.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Back at the base, Adam had a bad feeling about the mission. There was no reason for his mood and he tried to put it down to the fact that it was the first time Vlad had gone off world without him since they became lovers. But he couldn’t shake off the cloud that seemed to hang around his desk, his office, and even the commissary. So he wasn’t surprised when he heard the arguing that followed the realisation that SGX weren’t calling in. Hammond wasn’t anxious to send another team to the planet but Jack won, helped by Major Davis, who seemed to think Washington would be upset if efforts were not made to rescue  one of their tame Russians. O’Neill, to give him his due, was concerned about the entire group.

 

As SG1 suited up in snow gear, Adam watched helplessly beside the gate controls. If anyone could bring Vlad back to him, Jack O’Neill could. He wanted to join the rescue mission but knew better than to ask. As a civilian with leave to stay on earth during his girlfriend’s visit, he couldn’t very well ask to go rushing off after his missing team. He turned wearily towards the commissary. He envied St. George. At least the saint had had permission to go dragon hunting.

 

Paul joined him for coffee and they commiserated with each other. The major told him how he and Jack had got together after Daniel Jackson’s death, and how he hated being left behind while the colonel explored and fought the universe. Adam listened but half his mind was wrapped in a snow suit, and had gone through the Stargate without him.

 

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

SG1 were expecting trouble from the moment they stepped through the gate, whatever the MALP had to say about silent snow covered hills. There was a faint trail of footprints in the snow, almost obliterated but sufficient to follow. So they followed it, weapons held ready.

 

As a result they were able to distrust and disarm the guards who met them, without even trying to communicate. Jack then indicated that if the guards knew what was good for them they would take the newcomers to their friends. It seemed they did and would.

 

They probably hoped to overpower SG1 in the tunnels but Jack contacted Hammond, demanding back-up, and the team were ready for the welcoming committee underground. Having secured the entrance and a short distance within, they paused to wait for another team to show up. They continued to demand their fellow gate travellers, and soon realised, as SGX had done, that speech wasn’t going to be any use. Unfortunately, no-one had any sign language whatsoever. However, the natives appeared to understand scowls and weapons and gestures, and eventually one of them opened a small door in the wall of the tunnel. It hid a panel like a computer screen and communication with the people in the underground world was established. As the panel came alive, Jack was relieved to hear sounds from behind him. Voices.

 

Two back-up teams and a smoke ‘bomb’ later, SG1 were in undisputed control of the tunnels, and a guard came waving his arms and weaponless to invite them further in.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

SGX had made a dash for the door of the weighing room but without clothes or weapons they were unable to prevent their recapture. Bravery had got them nowhere. Strangely, they weren’t damaged or even restrained by anything other than grasping hands. But they were thrown unceremoniously into a cauldron of water and the sides were too steep and too slippery to climb. Swimming would exhaust them quickly; they floated, hoping against hope that something would happen.

 

Something did. As the water began to warm, Sharon found her treacherous brain enjoying the faint comfort it brought. Their backs were warm now, though their faces and the fronts of their bodies were still icy. Vlad wondered if this was how it felt to fall asleep and die in the snow. Ron continued to pray and Bob joined him. They said the words aloud for mutual comfort, unsurprised when the other two didn’t join in, but prepared to intercede for everyone. Vlad thought of Adam. Sharon tried not to think at all.

 

The water was becoming uncomfortably hot when a familiar face leaned over the rim and a voice that had brought fear to Goa’uld said something glorious about getting them out of there. The sound echoed in the hollow of the vessel and drowned out the moaning of the machines. Bob Somerfield had never thought of Jack O’Neill as an angel, but he was certainly an answer to prayer.

 

With earth teams holding the entrance, the tunnel dwellers had recognised stalemate. There were other colonies, but none near enough to send help faster than more (and better armed) help could come through the gate, and the miners were intelligent enough to know when they faced defeat. SGX were hauled out of the water, dried roughly and handed their clothes. 

 

Gradually, saying nothing because of the noise, watching the enemy at every step, the SG people retreated. First to the entrance, then slowly to the gate. They weren’t followed, or if they were, they didn’t see their followers. Someone dialled out and everyone filed through, Jack bringing up the rear. He let Bob stay until the end, aware of the other man’s threatened pride and his gratitude, and aware, too that it could have been any of them in there. He ushered the SGX leader into the gate ahead of him and followed with a sigh of relief. 

 

The planet would be declared off limits. Nobody wanted a war with an uncertain outcome for the sake of a few mines. Whatever was in them. And whoever the tribute takers were.

 

And SGX tumbled thankfully into the infirmary, out of the cold.

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Adam knew they were back. He knew they were all safe. He was desperate to see Vlad but he would have to wait till the medical checks were over. He invented some work that demanded overtime, phoned Emma and settled in his office. He simply couldn’t go home.

He considered explaining his feelings to Emma but was stopped by the risk of her telling his mother. He had no desire to ‘come out’ at such a distance and in such a way. Emma would be unlikely to see the need to keep his secret.

 

The checks were satisfactory. Alternate freezing and boiling weren’t a healthy option but neither had reached life threatening extremes. The recommendation was for a few days’ rest or at least light desk work. The debriefing could wait till the next day – O’Neill had given Hammond as much information as was needed to close access to the planet.

 

The team were told to go home. Vlad headed for Adam’s office instead. He was sure he would find him there.

 

Adam sensed the shadow in the doorway and looked up from the computer screen. His chair toppled backwards onto the floor as he threw himself out of it and reached Vlad’s arms just as the Russian closed the door. The frustration of Emma’s presence followed by the fear during the last few hours combined to make their reunion fierce and explosive. At first they clung to each other, kissing, scratching, biting, trying to appease hungers that neither of them had known were so deep. Then they ended somehow on the floor, rolling this way and that in their eagerness to get at skin, at sex, at intimacy. They didn’t bother to lock the door; life affirmation felt more important than privacy. But they weren’t disturbed. 

 

Afterwards, Adam was sore, from the roughness of the standard office carpet, and from the equal but welcome roughness of Vlad’s love making. Vlad’s skin was sore too, mostly from the cold and the heat it had suffered, but with additional marks where Adam’s nails had almost penetrated his back. They took long minutes to disengage, to bring their breathing back to some semblance of normal, and then to exchange hesitant smiles that acknowledged another milestone in their relationship.

 

They went back to the surface together and travelled home, parting near their respective apartment blocks. They didn’t talk, except for a murmured goodbye. No jokes this time. And both of them knew for certain that Emma was merely an inconvenience to be tolerated for a little while.


	22. Close Encounters

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**Part8. In which an American tradition is celebrated**

 

**SGX 22** **. Close encounters.**

 

Emma didn’t ask about his day, or why he’d needed to stay late. She had already explored the local shops and as well as buying things for the party she had chosen some cold meat and salad for their evening meal. Going out every night was an expensive habit and in any case she knew Adam would want to relax after his first day back at work.

 

Adam felt guilty. Not about Vlad or their wild sex in the office, but about SGX in general and the way Emma had to be kept in the dark about what his job really entailed. This was worse than GCHQ. Emma knew that all his work was covered by the Official Secrets Act, here as well as in Britain, but Adam disliked letting her meet people who were not what they seemed, and that didn’t just extend to Teal’c and Jonas. It all seemed like lying.

 

He was quiet and moody as they ate but Emma put it down to tiredness and he didn’t contradict her.

 

After dinner they phoned his mother and spoke to her for longer than usual, to make up for having forgotten until too late the previous evening, and he heard Emma say how much she was enjoying herself. He hoped she meant it. He wanted her to have a good time but after all, he hadn’t invited her, and had in fact been working up to breaking off their relationship.

 

Then there were people at the door and his thoughts were shelved for the time being. Sam had brought Janet to meet Emma, assuming that the two doctors would have something in common. She was right, and soon all three women were chatting and laughing over cups of coffee. Adam felt decidedly out of the conversation and eventually lost himself in his book. 

 

He returned to the present century with a jolt. Emma was asking him something or telling him – he wasn’t immediately sure which. It turned out that Janet had a friend in one of the local hospitals who would be happy to show Emma around and let her observe American medicine in action. Janet apologised for not being able to admit her to the hallowed precincts of the air force but Emma was obviously thrilled with the offer that had been made. Janet phoned her friend and Lindsey happily arranged to pick Emma up at the apartment the next morning. There would be plenty to interest her for at least a couple of days and Emma seemed really excited at the idea. Then Thursday would be filled with party preparations. Emma’s holiday would continue to be a good one.

 

Work was fine, too. The team had a day off – apart from Adam, of course, - then everyone settled down to some neglected paper work. Adam enjoyed knowing Vlad was on the base, even if all they had time for was the occasional coffee. At least he didn’t have to worry about him.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Sharon had seen Vlad head for Adam. She herself had gone straight to Teal’c, but somehow, his solid warrior’s presence had not comforted her as she had expected. He had said and done nothing to upset her, but her brain kept reminding her that he was an alien. Sharon was not very fond of aliens right now.

 

Teal’c sensed her mood but did little to counteract it. He was beginning to regret their liaison. He liked and admired Sharon but she was, after all, from this earth, not his. By the time she invited him to attend Adam’s party with her, he had made up his mind.

‘You do not mean that,’ he said, quite sternly. ‘We should not take this further, Sharon Vaughan. We are friends, and we should remain friends. If we try to be more, I think we may destroy that friendship.’ Sharon was surprised at his perception. Most men, in her experience, were thickheads when it came to relationships. She had to agree, but as she said goodnight and left him, she felt sad for what might have been.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Emma asked some of the hospital staff to the party. She was a little hesitant about telling Adam what she’d done, but he was delighted. Emma would feel more confident with people she considered her friends, and the presence of non-base people would prevent anyone from making a stupid mistake and speaking out of turn, thinking everyone was from Stargate Command.

 

He came straight home on Thursday evening and helped get the flat ready. Not that there was much to do. They rearranged some of the furniture so that it was against the walls, tidied up and opened packets of salad and dips and cheese. Adam unpacked the drinks they’d bought and the glasses they’d hired and set them out in the kitchen. Then there was nothing to do but get changed and wait.

 

Most of their friends were all too pleased to have a social occasion to attend and there was none of the fashionable lateness that Adam was used to in England, and that for all he knew might be the norm in America.

 

By eight o’clock, things were in full swing, and the small apartment was crowded, noisy with chatter and laughter. Everyone was there. All of SG1 and SGX, plus Paul, Niki, some of the medical staff, Lindsey and others from the hospital and the scientists who’d accompanied the mission to the green planet. There were partners, too, including Bob Somerfield’s wife. Adam hoped Emma would see how well he fitted in here, how many friends he’d made, and perhaps consider him in a new light, no longer the reserved civil servant from home. It might make the break easier if he was no longer the person she thought she knew. 

 

He felt surprised and sorry that Teal’c and Sharon had arrived separately and seemed to be making no effort to be together. They weren’t hostile; just indifferent. Adam smiled to himself. He wanted everyone to share his happiness – he and Vlad had enough and to spare. But other people had their own agendas.

 

He was genuinely enjoying himself. Vlad was talking to Teal’c beside the window and Adam allowed himself a moment’s luxury watching his lover’s expressive face and the hand gestures that tried to make his English more comprehensible. 

 

But if Vlad was over there, who on earth … ? He could feel himself blushing a deep red as someone groped him. He whirled – whoever it was, this wasn’t funny. Emma was nearby, and some of the medics. He expected to see Niki or even Paul but instead found himself looking up into the amused face of Jean-Pierre.

 

There didn’t seem to be adequate words so he just looked his outrage and astonishment. But the Frenchman merely laughed.

 

‘I thought you enjoyed the admiration of other men,’ he murmured. ‘We could be something special together, I think.’ He had an inquiring smile on his handsome face and Adam gulped. The man seemed to think he, Adam, was available and even looking for a partner. At least the approach appeared to be genuine. How on earth did he turn him down without causing offence? He wasn’t exactly used to the etiquette of the gay world.

 

‘I – I’m already spoken for. I thought you’d know.’ It was the best he could come up with and it sounded lame.

 

‘Maybe, but maybe I could persuade you to think again.’ The Caribbean accent was rich and caressing. Adam didn’t feel caressed; he felt trapped. It shouldn’t be this hard to say no, but he felt like a schoolboy, gauche and wrong-footed.

 

‘After all,’ Jean-Pierre went on, ‘Your girlfriend isn’t exactly hanging round your neck, and I know you aren’t as straight as she might like to think.’ So that was it. His relationship with Emma had made Jean-Pierre think Vlad was only a passing fancy. Somehow, he would have to explain.

 

Except that he wouldn’t, because Vlad was beside him, his face a mask of Russian temperament. Somehow, he had picked up on what was going on.

 

‘If you is wanting my place, Frenchman,’ he said, ‘You is having to with me fighting.’

Despite the English garbled by stress, his meaning was very plain. Jean-Pierre’s eyebrows rose swiftly and he looked appraisingly from one man to the other. Then he gave a small bow and a rueful smile.

 

‘I misunderstood,’ he said. ‘I meant no offence, Major. Please forget the incident.’ Adam could feel Vlad retreating from the brink of war, and took absurd pleasure in the knowledge that he had occasioned such protective wrath.

 

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, wanting to defuse the situation further, ‘I’m flattered, but off limits, so now that you know, there’s no problem.’ Vlad and Jean-Pierre glowered at each other for a moment but Adam’s words seemed to calm the first and relieve the second. 

 

‘In that case,’ Jean-Pierre began, in a totally different voice, one lacking the deep undertones, ‘We should all be friends. We are all foreigners here.’ And he went on to invite them to visit Martinique next time they had leave. He was going himself on Monday, for a fortnight. Next time, perhaps they could plan to join him.

 

He walked away, ostensibly to fill his glass in the kitchen, and the party swirled round him, hiding him from their view.

 

Adam grinned at Vlad.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But I thought I was supposed to be the knight in armour.’ Vlad’s eyes laughed at him.

 

‘Yes, but Niki is warn me. That man he has a - a something people are all knowing about him - a - he go with any person who is moving. And I think Niki does not warning you and I am seeing his face – and your face also.’ Adam wished Niki had indeed warned him. Maybe he’d thought Emma was protection enough. Still, there was no harm done, and at least he now knew his inclinations were public knowledge, and that he needed to sort out his clumsy reactions and learn to turn unwanted attentions away lightly.

 

‘So do you want a holiday in Martinique?’ he teased.

 

Vlad stared at him then burst out laughing.

‘I think he is hoping we are not seeing very much Martinique,’ he spluttered. ‘Is French ménage à trois he want, St. George.’ And Adam realised that he still had a lot to learn.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

The party went on until the early hours. Despite it being a weekday, nobody seemed anxious to go home to bed. Emma was flushed and lively, chatting to everyone, not just her new medical friends, and Adam was pleased for her. Jean-Pierre was one of the first to leave, followed by Colonel Somerfield and Martha.

 

The drink started to run out and a few more people noticed the time. Eventually Adam and Emma were left in alone, and Emma insisted she could clear up next morning while Adam was at work. 

 

‘I had a lovely time,’ she told him. ‘It was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.’ Adam couldn’t quite grasp what had been so special, but he was glad she was happy. And extremely glad to say goodnight and go to sleep.

 

 


	23. Aftermath

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**SGX 23. Aftermath**

 

Adam closed his mind to guilt as he tiptoed out of the trash heap that had replaced his normally tidy flat. He left Emma asleep, or at least in bed, because he didn’t check. He had accepted her offer to clean up – after all, he was working. A tiny voice of conscience said that after all, she was on holiday, but he squashed it firmly, and headed for the base. If there was anything to do when he got home, he’d do it.

 

Most of his colleagues seemed to be suffering from hangovers. He was tired, but hadn’t drunk much, and was irritated rather than sympathetic. Niki, in particular, annoyed him by moaning theatrically in the commissary, and he snapped that maybe if he couldn’t stand the smell of food and coffee he should go back to his lab. Then he had to spend the next fifteen minutes apologising when he saw how hurt his friend looked. So he hadn’t time for coffee himself, and arrived back at the computer in a worse mood than ever.

 

Vlad found him there at lunch time, swearing at the screen, and scribbling frantic numbers and signs on a notepad beside him.

 

‘I think you do not enjoy your party, English,’ he said quietly. Adam looked up, dropping the pencil as he did. He gave a rueful grin.

 

‘I enjoyed it, Vlad, but I seem to have made everybody else miserable for the day. And I’m tired.’

 

‘Peoples is always miserable after great parties,’ Vlad said, after some consideration. ‘More miserable if is more vodka.’ Adam had to acknowledge the truth of this. 

 

‘But I am tired, Vlad,’ he went on, ‘And because Emma is here, I can’t relax, can’t sleep in my own bed, can’t …’ He looked at Vlad and saw he didn’t need to finish the sentence.

 

‘I tired too, St. George,’ said the Russian. ‘I am thinking two weeks is being enough holiday for any people.’ And Adam had to agree.

 

They went for lunch and Niki had stopped moaning and was merely unusually quiet. Jean-Pierre was there and joined them, reminding them that he would be gone for a fortnight after finishing work today. Vlad and Adam weren’t able to explain to anyone why they found that incredibly funny, but at least the shared laughter sent Adam back to work in a better mood for the afternoon.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

Niki was feeling better by  home time but he frowned at Vlad as they rummaged in the fridge for something to eat. 

 

‘You two are getting too serious,’ he commented, his voice critical for once.

 

‘You sound like a school master! Who threw us together?’ Vlad replied, with mock hurt, and a grin.

 

‘It seemed a good idea, but I didn’t think you would both be so … so …’

 

‘Involved?’ Vlad finished for him. ‘Well, we are. What’s so bad about that? You like Adam, don’t you?’

 

‘Too much to see him hurt.’

 

‘By me? Why would you think …?’

 

‘Because you’re military. Because you aren’t going to be here for ever. Because you’ve seduced him and eventually you’re going to leave him high and dry.’ The Russian speech, usually so comforting and relaxing to listen to, exploded from him with real anger. Vlad thought carefully before he answered.

 

‘Adam knows I’m a Major. He knows about military postings. His own contract is temporary; his government could recall him at any time.’

 

‘But what would you do? Either of you? You can’t whisk him off to Russia in your kitbag.’ Niki sounded exasperated and Vlad realised he was concerned for both of them.

 

‘I’ll always care about him. And at least I’ve shown him where his true inclinations lie. And how to do something about it,’ he added with a mischievous smile. Niki sighed. Perhaps Vlad was right.

 

‘And when you aren’t there? Who rescues him from predators?’ So the incident with Jean-Pierre hadn’t gone unnoticed.

 

‘He’s capable of looking after himself – just needs a bit more education in what to look out for.’ Vlad was defensive now.

 

‘Then let’s hope you have time to provide that.’ Niki turned to switch the oven on and fill the kettle. The conversation he’d promised himself was over. Maybe Vlad would draw back a little and maybe not. After all, the couple were both adults – and perhaps their current pleasure was worth future pain.

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

The flat was pristine except for some  bin bags, tightly tied, of rubbish, which Adam soon took down to the large container that served the whole block. Emma had been shopping, too. A light meal was ready and Adam was grateful and apologetic for not having helped. Emma brushed his apologies away. She was in a strange mood, quieter than ever, and occasionally she had a small smile on her face. He hadn’t quite the nerve to ask what it was about.

 

When they had eaten, Adam cleared away, washed up and brought coffee for them both. Contrary to general opinion, that of Americans, anyway, coffee was at least as popular as tea, if not more so, in England, and he and Emma belonged firmly to the coffee drinking sector.

 

Emma was curled on one of the floor cushions, still smiling. Adam expected more desultory conversation about the party or the hospital. Her words took him totally by surprise.

 

‘Would you be offended, Adam, if I left this weekend instead of next?’

 

‘Of course not, if that’s what you want, but …’ Adam stared at her. Had he upset her? Dare he ask or would it be better to keep up a polite pretence and just let her go? It wasn’t as if he wanted her to stay, but he hoped she didn’t know that.

 

‘It’s OK. I’ve reorganised my flights and everything. The thing is, I’ve had an invitation to tour with one of my new friends, and as you’re at work, I thought …’

 

‘Well, that’s great!’ Adam hoped she would only hear his pleasure for her and not the dizzying excitement on his own account. ‘I was sorry I couldn’t take more time off for you. Where are you going?’

 

Emma was vague. One of the medics, whose name Adam didn’t quite manage to catch, was taking her on a trip in the south. She would catch her flight to New York from wherever they finished and then connect with her transatlantic journey, now postponed for a further week. It was a happy coincidence that Jan (he heard her this time) had holiday due this week. 

 

She had some further leave due which she had been going to spend in England, but now, well, this was too good a chance to miss.

 

For a moment Adam wondered whether to ask more questions, make sure she knew where she was going, what she was doing, then told himself he had no right to be over-protective, and should just thank his lucky stars for the good fortune.

 

They moved to the computer and he looked up places and routes and sites of interest, but Emma didn’t show a great deal of interest. She said she’d go wherever Jan took her and find out about the places when she got there. Adam could only wish her a happy holiday.

 

She was leaving the next day, quite early, and Adam promised to get her to the airport in time. She and Jan were flying to Jan’s parents’ home then borrowing a car for a few days. Adam didn’t recognise the name of the airport she mentioned but he wasn’t really listening.

 

As he lay on the couch – for the last time – he considered whether he should have phoned Vlad. Then he decided that he would surprise him by arriving on his way back from the airport, unencumbered, and ready to move his things back into the flat.

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

There was an autumn chill in the air as they loaded Emma’s luggage into the car and left in the morning. Adam told her she was wise to be going south, and she laughed.

 

‘Yes, a holiday needs some sunshine,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll get plenty of frost back in Newcastle. Don’t you wish they’d sent you somewhere warmer?’

 

‘Not really. I’m working, remember, not on holiday, and I’m enjoying my life here.’ Adam hoped she wouldn’t guess just how much he was enjoying it. And how he could go back to enjoying it once she was gone.

 

It was amazing how familiar Colorado Springs felt to Emma after only a fortnight. She pointed out various places where they’d eaten or had coffee, and Adam got the impression she meant it when she said she’d had a good time. Then they were at the airport and despite her protestations he parked the car and helped her with her bags. 

 

It appeared the first leg of her flight was to Miami and she’d agreed to meet her friend airside, so all Adam could do was watch her at check-in and then wave as she went through the barriers. He walked slowly back to the car, savouring his freedom but genuinely wishing his girlfriend, no, his ex-girlfriend, well. Perhaps he should have told her in person, but that might have spoilt her visit. He was sure he was doing the right thing.

 

He thought he saw Jean-Pierre, tall, black and assured, going into the terminal as he left, and mentally wished him well, too.

 

Then he had a job not to break the speed limit on his way back to Vlad. 

 

 


	24. Trick or Treat

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**SFX 24. Trick or treat**

 

Adam sat curled on the floor of his living-room, between his lover’s knees. He had just brought Vlad to a satisfyingly exciting climax using his tongue, lips and fingers, and the latter were still cupped round the Russian’s balls. His head was resting on Vlad’s outstretched thigh and he turned slightly, to trail a gentle kiss along the sensitive inner side. Vlad murmured, and tightened his hold in Adam’s hair, but didn’t move.

 

It was unbelievably good being together again. Adam felt as if the past fortnight had been some sort of nightmare, then was cross with himself for feeling that way about Emma. Cross, too, that he was allowing himself to drift further and further into a situation where he didn’t feel he’d ever be able to do without the man he was currently touching. 

 

Jack O’Neill had been the first to warn him. Paul had added some words of caution that day when they’d waited for one to rescue the other. Niki had since added his two pence worth, or should that, Adam mused, be two roubles’ worth? But he had known all along what he was getting himself into. 

 

It had been so fantastic, realising his teenage dreams, throwing off his protective camouflage of straight Anglo-Saxon male, and giving himself to Vlad. He accepted that at some point there would be a price to be paid. He hoped it wouldn’t be called for too soon, and determined to make the most of what they had.

 

‘What you are thinking, English?’ Vlad’s gentle voice brought him back into the room.

 

‘Nothing. About you. I don’t know.’ His muddled reply caused the other man to raise a querying eyebrow.

 

‘Me?’

 

‘Yes, you! About how good this is. About enjoying ourselves while we can.’ Adam looked up, brushing his lips across Vlad’s cock as he did so. 

 

Vlad considered the pale, sculpted face with the white-blond hair, then leaned forward and kissed Adam hard.

 

‘English, I am enjoy,’ he said, very firmly, then rose to get dressed.

 

It was Sunday evening and Emma had been gone since Saturday morning. After a fairly wild reunion, Vlad and Adam had settled back into the easy intimacy of sharing – sharing their jobs, their living space, their bed and their bodies. Tomorrow SGX was due to go on another mission. Adam would tell Hammond of Emma’s abrupt departure, and hope to go with them.

 

Meanwhile, they should eat, Adam should call his mother, and then it would be time to sleep wrapped in each others’ arms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

They were almost late for the briefing. By the time they had missed the snooze button on the alarm clock twice, showered and dressed in extreme haste, tripping over each other as they did so, and rushed to the base, Hammond was in a meeting with O’Neill and Davis, and Adam had had to cool his heels waiting. Eventually the office door had opened and he had blurted out his news and his request to be back on mission status. Hammond had seemed pleased, but by the time the formalities were complete, Adam had bare seconds to get to the room where Colonel Somerfield was waiting. Vlad was standing outside, moving impatiently from one foot the other and after a rapid wordless query and nod, they rushed in together.

 

The MALP had declared their destination void of sentient life, but that only meant there was nobody living near the gate. Everyone knew better than to trust the machines. One day, artificial intelligence would be just that; at the moment the MALPs were clever, but easily fooled.

 

The planet was, according to the pictures they had, devoid of most life. An almost desert, with few hills worthy of the name, it looked gloomy and grey under an old sun, but the reason for Stargate Command’s interest was obvious. The rocks near the gate had shown signs of rare minerals. This could be the mining paradise they kept hoping to discover.

 

The air, said the machine, was breathable. Water might be a problem and they each strapped extra containers onto their belts as they dressed in desert clothing.

 

Then Somerfield gave them the unchanging speech, the one they didn’t really listen to but knew in their bones, about being careful, watching out for each other, and never leaving anyone behind. 

 

‘At least we won’t be cold,’ he finished, alluding to their last experience. And with that he led them out into the gate room and through the rippling non-liquid that never failed to send shivers of excitement down Adam’s spine.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

A couple of hours later, Somerfield had to admit that the planet was about as safe and as  unremarkable as it appeared. Some dull red rocks had shown traces of minerals but the red rock outcrops were few and far between, and Bob suspected the seams of ore didn’t go far. The rest of the place was mostly a granite type rock, occasionally giving way to limestone (or the equivalent) pavements , where a few tenacious plants clung to the walls of the clefts and drank whatever water there was. Other than a few spiders they had seen no animal life.

 

‘What do the spiders eat?’ Sharon wondered.

 

‘Each other?’ The others all made faces at Ron’s suggestion but certainly there seemed to be a notable absence of food. Maybe these were vegetarian spiders, though Adam, who had noticed webs in the deeper crevices, doubted it.

 

There was nothing near the gate to suggest natives either now or in the past. Bob was pretty certain that the Goa’uld had mined this planet out and left it to die quietly. Why they should have left the gate was a mystery, but one he didn’t feel competent to solve. Let the earth teams discuss it when he delivered his report.

 

He sent them off in twos, Sharon paired with Ron and Vlad with Adam, with instructions not to get out of sight of the gate, then settled down to wait for them, guarding their means of exit. They would survey the land as far as they could see and if Hammond or anyone else wanted more, they could send another team with transport. 

 

It was almost sunset here, and the sky was duller and heavier than ever. Both pairs walked quickly till they had passed the areas already explored, then slowed to note their findings. This was the downside, the boring side, of missions, and there were ten of these to every one explosion of excitement. Thinking of the last excitement, Vlad thought he could probably take a fair bit of boredom. Especially accompanied by his Englishman.

 

As the sun reached the horizon they turned back for the gate.

 

Suddenly the sky came alive. Huge silhouettes of monstrous spiders splayed across the dimness and a loud buzzing announced the rise of millions of tiny flies. White, with jet black eyes making their heads skull-like in the growing darkness, they massed above the pavement areas and a quick look at the sky gave a strange expanded shadow play of the conflict that was taking place. 

 

For some reason (Adam’s physics wasn’t up to an explanation), the spiders were reflected on the sky and they fought, conquered and ate the flies by the million. When they looked at the actual scene of carnage, there was little to see except a churning in the air, but the battle played out against the sky was magnificent. The flies kept coming, pouring from cracks in the stone, as dense as smoke, and the spiders threw their webs like fishing nets, catching huge numbers every time. When they munched their way through what they had caught, the watchers almost expected to hear the sound of chewing and swallowing.

 

They walked under the shadows, unable to help flinching as the nets caught their boots. At one point Adam stopped to brush a web from his fingers. It was slightly sticky, but disintegrated at a flick of his other hand. They could see Sharon and Ron stopping once or twice, as well, and Vlad had to clear a web with flies from the end of one of his water carriers. A spider scuttled down his leg and leapt for the discarded net.

 

It was a grisly spectacle, but as the explorers neared the gate and the sun dipped beneath the curve of the planet, it was over as suddenly as it had begun. The buzzing stopped, the shadows vanished, and the planet was serene again.

 

‘Quite a show,’ Ron murmured, but they were all sombre as they waited for Bob to dial out. The question of what the spiders ate had been answered, in a scene reminiscent of a horror movie, and the silence and deadness of the planet had shown itself to contain secrets.

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Hammond was disappointed by their report but too used to unproductive missions to comment. It wasn’t a failure. Another planet had been visited and might be visited again. Failures were events like the signing aliens, and even then, the whole mission had come home alive. 

 

Jack was amused when Bob told him about the sky show.

‘Better send a movie team through,’ he suggested. ‘We could make a packet!’

 

Adam and Vlad stopped to buy food on their way home and were d isconcerted by the giant black shapes strung above pumpkins and broomsticks in every shop. The displays were an eerie echo of their day’s work. In the excitement of Emma’s departure and a trip off-world, they had forgotten that it was almost Halloween.

 


	25. Boo at the Zoo

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**SGX 25. Boo at the Zoo.**

 

It was Niki who found out that the zoo laid on a Halloween special even, called Boo at the Zoo. It was, of course, aimed at children, but the foreigners working for Stargate Command had never experienced an American Halloween and were determined to enjoy it to the full. Adam only knew about the American customs from films, and although the ‘trick or treat’ custom was gradually spreading in Europe, he thought it wasn’t, perhaps, quite like the original, which he was anxious to observe.

 

Niki bought tickets and he, Vlad and Adam were looking forward to the evening. The ticket clerk had been slightly puzzled when he had asked only for adult tickets, but had shrugged at the strange ways of foreigners. Sharon had warned them to lay in a stock of sweets (which she called candies) against early trick or treat callers, and all three had bought silly masks at the local Wal-Mart. Vlad had a witch, complete with pointed hat, wig and long nose, Adam had a skull, and Niki had a pumpkin head with a toothy grin. Jean-Pierre wasn’t back yet from his two week holiday, or they’d have tried to persuade him to join them.

 

They begged Jack to beg Hammond to leave them on earth over the festival. When he realised they really wanted to see Halloween first hand, Jack was all too ready to oblige and Hammond altered the schedules with a wry grin. So they spent the few days prior to the festival on office work. Colonel Somerfield and Ron were bemused but willing to catch up on paperwork.

 

Sharon and Sam decided to join the trio. They would need American guides, they said seriously, so Niki procured extra tickets and the party was all set.

 

The evening started with everyone congregating at Adam’s flat, or apartment as he was learning to call it. The fact that it was Vlad’s, too, wasn’t mentioned. A few knee-high visitors, in costumes made from white sheets, black refuse bags and sparkling fabric produced specially for the occasion, tucked in happily to an assortment of ‘candies’. Adam explained that the same children in England would only be satisfied with money and in a week’s time would be back demanding a ‘penny’ (or a pound) for the guy’ and commented on the comparative innocence and child-like demeanour of the Colorado Springs youngsters. It appeared that Russia had not yet been ‘treated’ to the custom, but Niki said he suspected the Russian kids would be more like the English ones.

 

Then they made their way to the zoo, by cab, hoping to drink, either at the zoo or on the way home. Sam had made a fortune teller’s costume using a brightly coloured shawl and lots of costume jewellery. Sharon was resplendent in a witch’s hat and wig, with her own features made strange with greenish powder, stick-on sores and a wispy beard. 

 

The cab dropped them at the approach to the zoo and Sam fell back with Sharon as they walked the rest of the way.

 

‘I thought Teal’c would have joined us,’ she said, looking questioningly at the other woman. ‘How are you two getting on?’

 

Sharon shrugged. ‘We’re still friends,’ she told Sam, ‘But that’s all. I think we both thought our skin gave us far more in common than it really did. But he’s a good friend to have!’ she finished. Sam agreed. She wished the alien warrior could find someone to be more than a friend, but was somehow secretly glad that Sharon wasn’t the one. She liked Sharon but she had never thought the pair made a good couple. Teal’c had been invited to come along tonight but had raised his eyebrows in disbelief. The childish nature of the adventure was so not his scene.

 

They caught up with the men. Sharon didn’t need to tell Sam about Adam’s relationship with Vlad. Although they weren’t touching, their feelings were clear in everything they said and did. And Sam had seen Adam’s face when he had sung on the green planet.

 

They agreed that some of their off-world experiences would make Halloween seem tame, and the SGX members described the spider display to Niki and Sam. Niki was the only one who had never been through the Stargate, but he claimed not to want to, in such definite terms that they had to believe him.

 

The zoo was decorated with lanterns and glittering moons and stars. There were stalls selling almost everything that could be made out of a pumpkin. Everybody enjoyed bowls of pumpkin soup but only the Americans appreciated pumkin pie. Niki spat his out, to the mixed disgust and amusement of the women, but Adam and Vlad heroically managed to swallow one bite apiece before handing their portions to some passing children who would be more enthusiastic. There were other delicacies. Soft drinks had been coloured black or virulent green; cookies, which the Europeans insisted on calling biscuits, had been decorated with Halloween themes, and there was blood-red candy floss as well as toffee apples and ‘gingerbread men’ in the shape of ‘ghouls’. 

 

There were games such as bobbing for apples, and a ‘ghost parlour’ to visit, but the SG personnel were more interested in the lectures on bats, and spiders, given by experts who had live exhibits as their illustrations. Adam had been to a bat display at the Cotswold Safari Park near Cheltenham, when he was at GCHQ. He had overheard fellow visitors expressing dislike of the little creatures and was glad to be part of a group listening to nothing but good about them. Some of the spiders were tarantulas and the audience were encouraged to touch them, after a caution that some people could have skin allergies. Adam stroked one of them, remembering the hunting spiders from their last mission and wondering what these giants would look like reflected against the sky.

 

A treasure trail lead past sleepy animals who no doubt wondered what on earth was going on. The giraffe herd was standing quietly in the paddock next to their indoor quarters, their splotches standing dark against the paler areas made almost white by moonlight. From an aviary, an owl hooted and as if in response, a cloud scudded across the face of the moon.

 

The whole event was surprising and eerie and pleasurable. They were glad they had come.

 

Vlad had grabbed Adam’s hand as soon as he thought the darkness would screen them.

 

‘I protecting from ghosts,’ he told him, but Adam laughed and assured him he didn’t need protection and indeed would be glad to offer his services to Vlad in that respect. He didn’t, however, leave loose of the hand that held his, and they wandered contentedly round the paths and showpieces laid on for their enjoyment. When they rejoined the others they were walking decorously side by side but when they left to find a bar, Vlad made sure he sat next to Adam, and that their knees were touching. 

 

Eventually, via half a dozen bars, they reached home and said goodnight. Sam and Sharon felt virtuous. The Europeans had had a good time and would have a better idea of what American Halloween celebratio ns entailed. Niki felt virtuous, too. He had organised the outing for everyone. Adam and Vlad felt content, and amorous, as they entered their flat.

 

Adam switched on the computer and checked his emails. It was almost a reflex action. He got updates from friends at GCHQ as well as letters from Emma, and a cousin kept him informed about his mother’s health; he knew she would never tell him anything that might worry him in their weekly phone calls. Not that there was anything to worry about, but he felt happier knowing other relatives were keeping an eye on her and keeping him in the picture.

 

There was one message in his inbox. From Emma. Vlad leaned over his shoulder, recognising the name.

 

‘You are telling she is not coming back here,’ he said. ‘Telling me she is not,’ he amended. He didn’t really think she would, but …

 

Adam was laughing, and Vlad couldn’t read the English fast enough to get the joke. So Adam read the letter slowly, with his own comments interspersed.

 

‘Dear Adam,

 

I wasn’t completely truthful when I left. My new friend wasn’t one of the medics. I’ve been to Martinique with your colleague Jean-Pierre. Jean, not Jan.

 

(Well, no wonder I hadn’t recognised the name).

 

I’ve had an absolutely fantastic time.

 

(Good – less guilt for me, then).

 

Jean’s parents were really welcoming. His father is a doctor and we have had lots of long conversations about medicine in England and France.

 

(Gracious – can’t she ever forget the job?)

 

We have been to St. Pierre, the town engulfed by a volcano a hundred years ago. It’s like a modern Pompeii. You would find it fascinating.

 

(Yes, I’m sure I would).

 

Fort de France, the capital, is a lovely city, very French with wonderful coffee and great markets.

 

We went to some wonderful botanical gardens and saw loads of exquisite ginger plants, including some that the French call Porcelain Roses. Jean doesn’t seem too keen on showing me the jungle but won’t say why. After all, he was brought up here. You’d think he would be used to it!

 

(But he’s been to the green planet since then).

 

We’ve been swimming at Tartane on a beautiful peninsula, on the Atlantic side of the island and we went on a long hike through the nature reserve at the end. I saw my first mangrove swamps and managed to get lost. I followed a group who were trekking across some sand and Jean was ahead of me on the official trail. He had to get one of the rangers to find me again but everyone was amused rather than cross.

 

(Even Jean? I bet he remembered our mission all too well).

 

We swam again, in a beautiful shallow bay at the end of the trail, where the water was really blue and I thought I was in heaven. There were mongooses (or mongeese?) that watched us from the shrubs lining the water’s edge, and tiny crabs that lived in the sand uncovered by the tide.

 

Anyway, I need to get to the serious bit of this letter.

 

(Serious for her, or for me?)

 

Adam, I don’t know how to tell you this gently so I’ll just come straight out with it. I’m not your girlfriend any more.’

 

At this point Adam and Vlad whooped with joy and did a kind of dance around the computer. Eventually, Adam was able to continue.

 

‘I know you’ll be upset,’

 

(More whoops)

 

‘But we haven’t really had that fantastic a relationship. I suspect we clung to each other in the absence of anything else.

 

(She can say that again).

 

Jean-Pierre has ‘swept me off my feet’ to use an old-fashioned phrase, and has asked me to marry him.

 

(Wonder if she knows his reputation? Or cares?)

 

I’ve said yes, and when I go home it will be to wind up my job in Newcastle and apply for a post out here. Jean’s father doesn’t think there’ll be much problem finding something on one of the islands – maybe on Antigua, which is English–speaking and just ‘next door’ so to speak. Obviously Jean will be in Colorado Springs for a while but he’ll be home for holidays. And this time next year we’ll be getting married. I shall send you an invitation to the wedding.’

 

(Choking noises).

 

‘Adam, I hope so much that I haven’t hurt you badly. I don’t think I will have done, but just in case, I’m sorry, and some day, I hope you find someone to sweep you off your feet! I know it wasn’t me!

 

Finally, thank you for my holiday in America.

 

Emma.’

 

Adam looked up at Vlad, his eyes streaming with tears of laughter.

 

‘I’m so hurt,’ he declaimed, with mock sorrow. ‘After all, I thought Jean-Pierre had eyes only for me!’

 

As he rose from his chair at the computer, Vlad swept him up into his arms, literally off his feet, and deposited him on the bed, where he proceeded to undress him and kiss every inch of his body.

 

‘Mine, English,’ he said, ‘All mine!’ And as they celebrated, Adam wondered whether a ‘Dear John’ letter had ever been received with such pleasure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Birdbrained

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**Part 9. In which the future is contemplated**

 

**SGX 26 Bird-brained**

 

Everyone noticed that both Vlad and Adam seemed more carefree than usual. Both men were laughing and joking, first in the commissary with all their friends, then as they suited up for their postponed off world mission.

 

The planet was another forested one but there were clearings of some considerable size, and they already knew that there were a myriad of flying things in the air, on the ground and in the trees. Birds, bats and butterflies, or at least their equivalents, were waiting for them by the thousand, or more likely the million. Opinion was undecided about intelligent life. There were some structures in one of the clearings that could be nests or something else, and of course there was the Stargate.

 

They were to take samples to enable the scientists to decide whether a full scientific survey was warranted, and were to investigate the nests.

 

Bob Somerfield hoped his team would have a peaceful time. He wasn’t ready for another planet of cannibals or sentient greenery, and he doubted whether the others were. Simple work, like that on the spider planet would suit him best. Not that he’d mind a fight against the Goa’uld or their assistants. He was military, after all. But he preferred an obvious enemy and a clean death as the worst outcome.

 

Ron, he thought, was making good progress. He was pleased at how well Airman Potts had grown into his role, and glad his initial doubts had been overturned. Sharon seemed subdued, and he’d heard rumours of a rift between her and Teal’c. Hardly surprising, he thought, considering his sassy sergeant and the reserved alien. Vlad and Adam were so obviously a couple that he felt worried for them. But their care for each other enhanced their teamwork so he couldn’t criticise or grumble and they never brought their love life to work. He mused about the church elders who thought homosexuals to be abominations and tried fitting the description to his men; failed and decided that the elders had too little experience of reality. He himself was getting tired of this life. He was beginning to be tired of lying to his wife, or at least, of not sharing the whole truth of his work. Maybe he’d put in for early retirement, or ask to be switched to a desk job. Or maybe this was just winter blues, after a couple of distressing missions. He’d wait and see.

 

Meanwhile, there was a planet to visit, and he led his team through the Stargate with a forced spring in his step and his head held high.

 

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

They were everywhere. One moment they were in the clearing where the Stargate stood, deciding where to go first, and the next they were surrounded by birds.

 

There were huge shaggy birds the size of ostriches, with feet that looked as if they were capable of kicking a man to kingdom come, sleek black raven types, ghostly white birds that resembled albatrosses, colourful parakeets and tiny wrens. Dozens, no, scores of each. They were just standing around the team. And yet, not just standing. Every bird was rustling its feathers, cocking its head, staring unwinking with obsidian eyes. None of them made any kind of bird call, but the sound of their moving plumage was deafening.

 

There was no reason to be afraid. Yet. None of them sensed any hostility. But there was an implacable purpose to the gathering. And the circle was complete. The birds wanted something.

 

‘Well, folks, I don’t suppose a turkey shoot would be the best way out of here.’ Colonel Somerfield’s soft drawl snagged their attention back to himself. ‘So we’d better wait and see if they’re going to tell us what they’d like us to do.’ They could all see that a shooting match would easily end with victory for the birds. There were too many of them and probably more in reserve.

 

 

Adam gulped. As a child he had been scared by the Daphne Du Maurier story that was turned into a powerful film. He didn’t dislike birds as such, but this horde …He glanced at the others. Stiff upper lips all round seemed to be the order of the day. At least till they knew what was in store.

 

Nothing. The birds watched them. They watched the birds. Still nothing. Then with a susurration of feathers the entire flock, including the huge ostriches, took flight and disappeared.

 

The relief was palpable though nobody said much. They set up a base in the clearing and unpacked the sampling equipment. This time, it was just a few starling look-alikes, swooping over their gear then landing on it and pecking. They didn’t damage it, despite exploring it thoroughly, and once they’d realised it wasn’t edible, if that was what they had wanted to know, they flew off. One remained behind, still dabbing his beak onto Adam’s backpack. Vlad waved his arms at him in a time honoured shooing motion and he rose to about the height of their heads and hovered. Then he turned and left. The clearing was quiet and empty, except for the team.

 

‘Birds with the curiosity of cats! Better put it in the report.’ Somerfield was grinning now. Vlad wasn’t.

‘You are seeing their feet?’ The others, it seemed, hadn’t been looking at details. They were the explorers, not the biologists.

‘Not feet. Hands. Am meaning hands.’ Vlad was frowning.

‘No, feet is right, Vlad.’ Sharon smiled encouragingly. She found Vlad’s difficulties with English endearing. But Vlad looked offended.

‘Am not talking about feet. Hands. At ends of wings.’ He flapped his arms to emphasise his point and the starling chose that moment to return. It landed on Vlad’s pack this time and deftly undid a strap with its hands – leathery hands with opposable thumbs. Then it flew off with his water flask. In retrospect the black eyes had shone with an intelligence that had been there all along.

 

Cons ensus of opinion said they were probably this planet’s more highly evolved inhabitants. Approximating to the great apes on earth. Not human in their intelligence; they had showed no signs of wanting to communicate. The team would split into two groups, take samples, and return to earth. There would be no problem over Vlad’s flask; they all had ample supplies. But they should keep a lookout for further theft.

 

Adam and Vlad found themselves with Sharon, collecting leaves and berries, and, after some discussion, a few worms and slow moving beetles. These they were careful to place in comfortable jars, with whatever plant material they were found on. They would be observed, not dissected, and returned to their homes.

 

Adam felt as if they were being watched and Sharon agreed. And so they were, There were birds peering from behind branches and round trunks as they moved further into the woods. Just watching, with no sign of hostility or even of any real interest.

 

Then the sound started. Birdsong. Twittering, piping, tweeting and some glorious warbling trills. Always behind their backs or beyond the next group of trees. The birds they could see were silent.

 

Adam thought they had enough samples. He wasn’t sure the MALP couldn’t have collected this lot, anyway. He felt betrayed, by SGC, into a situation where he felt uncomfortable and powerless. They couldn’t very well attack the general wildlife without making themselves look stupid when it came to explaining their weapon use. And there was really no reason to attack, other than extreme discomfort. Sharon seemed to share his feelings and even Vlad was showing signs of nerves.

‘Going back to base,’ he decided and led the way. Sharon and Adam followed with alacrity. So did a small flock of wrens.

 

The Colonel and Potts were already back at the clearing, looking anxious. A number of undistinguished small brown birds, hedge sparrows, perhaps, had joined them. And the noise was greater here, call answering call, filling the woods, always from new and unexpected directions and never from the birds that were visible.

 

Somerfield was glad to see them. Radio contact, he told them, was dead. They should head for the gate and dial out. It took only moments to gather their belongings but in those moments the birds closed in. They were surrounded. Then a path opened, wide enough for them to walk in single file, in the exact opposite direction to the one they wanted to take.

 

Bob was reluctant to take his team into danger. The last time he’d followed alien beings they had almost ended up as dinner. But there didn’t seem to be much choice short of fighting, and they still hadn’t been attacked. A glance at Vlad told the major to bring up the rear and Bob set off, hoping the others would follow him and that he wasn’t leading them to disaster.

 

The crowd closed in behind them. Vlad felt uncomfortably close to the feathered barrier. They didn’t push them or hurry them, but progress was inexorable. Adam was immediately in front of him and he watched the familiar blond hair, wondering if he’d ever again have the chance to run his fingers through it.

 

The walk lasted for some time. They could see nothing of the countryside through the dense wall of birds but they knew from what they could see above them that they passed through forested areas as well as clearings. As they moved under trees, more smaller birds flew down to join the march. Some of their captors flew. They would fly into the distance then turn and come back to join the throng. Others walked on feet that gripped the soil, in a solemn, slow procession. The songs were quieter and more spasmodic but the movement of the birds rustled the air. Single file marching didn’t lend itself to conversation so the team walked in silence, all of them aware of the growing crowd around them.

 

After about an hour they came to a larger than usual clearing, where every tree and shrub around the perimeter was festooned in berries. The crowd stopped and many of the birds began to eat. Some pecked at the berries and others grubbed for worms. Adam saw a number of the kinds of beetles he’d collected vanish with relish down feathered throats.

 

Evidently a meal break. And so they got out their packs and ate some of their rations, the things that didn’t need heating or any other preparation. Adam and Ron looked longingly at some of the fruits but they knew perfectly well that even on earth, birds could eat berries that would be toxic to humans. Here, the risk would be madness. They had water in their flasks, and were allowed to eat and drink without interference. Except that what looked like a baby finch flew down to share Ron’s meal. The young airman looked nonplussed, but made no attempt to dislodge his uninvited guest. A larger version, possibly a parent, came squawking and fussing, driving the youngster off. The telling off, for such it obviously was, was reserved for the little one. Nothing was directed at Ron. That boded well. They talked quietly as they ate. There wasn’t enough evidence to form solid opinions about what was going on. But so far they’d been offered no harm

 

The flock, which had never left any gaps even while eating, formed into a tight phalanx again and the captives, for they were beginning to see themselves as captives, were forced to tidy up and move. There was still no radio signal so they couldn’t report to Hammond. He would wait and then send someone after them, of course, but it was hard to see what anyone could do. Ask a group of birds to give up their prisoners? Risk slaughter for no good reason? It would be some time before they knew what was intended. Also, any would-be rescuers would have to find them first. 

 

It was  hard not to name the birds after their earth look-alikes, even now. Most of the walkers were ostriches or large birds that they couldn’t help thinking of as storks or ravens. The flyers were mostly wrens, starlings and sparrows, but there were a few brightly plumaged parrots with razor sharp beaks that could break a man’s finger.

 

They left the trees and came out onto a plain, covered in a thick , lush, dark green grass that made soft walking but slowed their progress. The birds slowed too, and their flying escort circled above. Gradually the plain was broken by clumps of trees. The terrain could not be called a forest but it was no longer rolling grassland. 

 

The sky was darkening as they stopped again. This time the birds backed away until the team were in the centre of a large circle. Hanging near them, on thin tall trees, were the nest-type structures they had seen in the reports. Well, at least, Adam thought, they were going to inspect as ordered. Each structure had an oval opening about half way up and as they watched, a beaked head appeared in each opening. The structures, then, were confirmed as nests.

 

Then, as they watched, a l adder of vines snaked from one of the openings, and an ungainly figure used it to descend to the ground. All bird calls were hushed and the walking escort, with one accord, bowed their heads 

 

The leader, for so they thought this bird must be, dipped its head slightly towards them, and waited. And that must be a first, thought Adam, as the team, as one, bowed their own heads to what to all outward appearances was a plump turkey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Giving Thanks

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**SGX 27 Giving Thanks**

 

The turkey gobbled.. Maybe that was the only sound a turkey throat could produce. A couple of white birds, possibly geese or the equivalent, honked to each other and rushed off. Under different circumstances it could have been amusing to watch them waddle quickly away.

 

They soon returned, carrying between them a basket woven crudely from some broad leaved grass, and put it in front of the turkey. He peered into it and then pushed it with his beak towards the visitors. It contained some kind of grain.

 

‘Dinner time again,’ Sharon muttered. The others didn’t answer but they all got out their rations. Better to offend the turkey by refusing the offering than die of some kind of food poisoning a long way from home. When they got out their water canteens and Adam started to share his with Vlad, a starling flew down and returned Vlad’s own flask. He hesitated. Then he decided that water was water. The planet had breathable air and apparently earth type plants and birds. They would have to be cautious about food but the water should be safe. Assuming they hadn’t simply returned his original earth water. He thought not. This water smelled fresh and pure, unlike the filtered denatured liquid they carried with them. Adam reached out a warning hand as Vlad drank then realised he was too late. Whatever the flask contained, Vlad now contained it too. He would just have to hope.

 

The birds removed the grain basket and stared at their guests, or prisoners. They seemed puzzled, as if they didn’t know what to do with these visitors who wouldn’t eat with them. Then the turkey appeared to shrug and all the birds settled, sitting on the ground, simply watching the team eat. Although he knew that the chicken flavoured rice dish in his plastic container had never been anywhere near a real chicken, Adam felt obscurely guilty and could see Ron and Sharon shared his feelings. Vlad and Bob ate stoically, apparently unconcerned.

 

Then a large hawk of some kind swooped and a wren near Sharon was suddenly limp in its talons. It didn’t fly off with its prey as an earth hawk would have done, but laid it at the feet of the turkey, who, to their amazement, began to eat. So much for the likeness to earth birds. It went so far and no further. And Adam’s guilt over the ersatz chicken disappeared at once.

 

When they had eaten, the turkey beckoned with his head, his wattles swinging. Curious rather than alarmed, they followed him beyond the small copse and found themselves looking at a low sandstone cliff or wall. It was probably natural in origin, but only in origin. The entire length of the wall had been carved with pictures.

 

The birds stood back and let them look at their leisure. It was, apparently, a history. A kind of Bayeux Tapestry in stone, Adam thought, hysteria threatening to take over his already stressed mind. Vlad seemed to realise how his lover was reacting and steadied him with an arm round his shoulders, careless of their companions. Adam was grateful and leaned in close. There were altogether too many birds.

 

 

The pictures showed a slow social development. The first drawings were of birds in earth style nests and groupings. Gradually, the groupings changed so that geese mixed with swans, wrens with parrots and so on. There were always small sacrifices but no wholesale slaughter. Apparently the little birds accepted the slight risk of death in exchange for the general social benefits. At least, that was how the travellers read it. Future investigators might find greater insights.

 

The birds seemed to have reached a level roughly equivalent to the first hunter gatherer tribes on earth. They harvested wild grains and fruits, stored them against seasonal weather changes, and took part in hunting expeditions, bringing down animals that looked like rats or squirrels. There was no attempt to farm in any meaningful way, though patches of grain had sprung up in places where the gatherers had dropped or spilled their cargo. The basket weaving must be an extension of nest building. Some of the birds in the carvings were seen offering one of their eggs to bigger birds. A protection racket? Or an agreed means of controlling predation? 

 

Then Sharon gasped. She had reached a section of carvings that showed humanoid visitors. From the addition of the gate, and the ships drawn in the background it was probable the ‘humans’ were Goa’uld. A few scenes showed them trying to mine something and perhaps trying to coerce the birds into helping. The pictures were not clear, to non-avian intelligence. At any rate, the birds had not liked them. Or perhaps had liked them too much. Liked their symbiotes. A scene showed the birds holding down the Goa’uld and pecking at their chests, removing and swallowing the worms they found. No surprises then, about the abandoned Stargate. Any survivors must have decided that whatever this planet held was not worth the risk.

 

The turkey noticed their interest and stepped close to Ron. He sniffed and shook his head, wattles swinging again. Then he tapped the picture with a leathery hand and sniffed again, this time in unconcealed disgust. He hurried them past the next few scenes and bent to pick up a stone lying near the wall. It was a flint, almost certainly brought from a distance, and deliberately flaked or otherwise sharpened.

Carefully, looking frequently at his guests, he drew them.

 

On the stone, they saw themselves emerge from the gate, collect samples, arrive at the copse and then at the wall.

 

The turkey, and his goose guards, or whatever they were, looked expectantly at them, and gobbled. He offered the flint to Bob and then the geese used their large webbed feet to clear a patch of flat stone below the wall.

 

Bob bit his lip. Skill as a pavement artist had never been written into the job specifications. A quick interrogation suggested Vlad as their most likely artist. He did his best, showing them leaving SGC and travelling through the gate, He showed them travelling back and the scientists investigating the leaves they took. He drew shipments of grain (depicted as brimming baskets), given in exchange for more leaves. He showed, or tried to show, ill people being made well by ingesting the leaves, a rather brief version of what would actually happen, to be sure but nonetheless true. And most important he sketched the Goa’uld and his people’s fight to keep them away from their own planet and others. 

 

A rapid gobbling and chirping and suddenly they had a basket of mixed leaves, presented by one of the geese, a couple of blackbirds looking anxious and hopeful in the background. It was amazing how quickly they had come to recognise expressions on bird faces.

 

Bob was trying his radio again, with no results, and looking at his watch. He was frowning and told the others they were going to have to hope SG1 weren’t the rescue team. Teal’c would not fare well here. But neither would any team that came in shooting first and asking questions later.

 

Vlad hastily scribbled a picture that should let the turkey know what was in store and his art must have been adequate. A gobble set off a cacophony of calls, fading into the distance. Within minutes four huge condors appeared, holding a basket between them. Some gestures and sounds suggested that this was transport to the gate. The trouble was, there was only room for two. Bob had no intention of leaving without the others, and so the rest of them drew straws. Pebbles, rather, picked for their sizes. Adam and Vlad were to go to the gate – by air.

 

Before they set off the turkey detained them with a peremptory wing gesture. A couple of finches flew to them and for a dreadful moment they thought they were to be attacked after all. But it seemed the birds wanted some of their hair. Once they had a sample of each they wove it so rapidly that their beaks and fingers blurred. The result was a ribbon, short and striped, a bit like the ribbons worn by military medal holders back on earth. It was carefully hung on a vine chain and lowered round the turkey’s neck. Then an exquisite nest, threaded with multicoloured feathers was presented to the team. Sharon accepted it, with a murmur of delight that seemed to satisfy their hosts. The ceremony, if that was what it was, ended when one of the condors stamped his foot; it was time for Adam and Vlad to go. 

 

As soon as they were settled in the basket the eagles took to the air. Vertical take off. High speed. Adam felt his stomach try to stay on the ground and grabbed Vlad in a momentary panic. Vlad, more used to strange flight manoeuvres, just held him tightly. After a few minutes the Russian felt able to peer over the side. The countryside was speeding below them. He considered telling Adam to look at the view then thought better of it. Nausea in a small open basket at this speed would be unpleasant. He stroked Adam’s forehead and tried to ignore his own nerves about the inevitable landing. He suspected it would be rough.

 

It was, but it was bearable, and once they had stopped, Adam’s face turned from chalk white to merely pale and they stepped out near the Stargate. Just in time. SG1 were coming through and Vlad had to shout to make them understand that they were OK, that the birds were strange rather than hostile and that Teal’c must turn back. At once. Sam, too, might be at risk, if the birds smelled her Tok’ra links.

 

So Jack waved his team back to the safety of the gate threshold and allowed Vlad to bring him up to date. By the time he was thoroughly acquainted with the facts another basket arrived, this time with all the other three on board. Sharon and Ron looked about as sick as Adam but Somerfield was euphoric about the ride, calming down when he saw O’Neill but still grinning like a child at a fair.The condors who had brought them all stood around silent; Jack got a mild taste of how SGX had felt when they first arrived. 

 

Only a mild one, because they were ready to leave. They bowed to their carriers and stepped up to the gate. Others would come. The planet would bear investigation and the birds would probably help. As well as his pack, Adam carried the basket of leaves. Sharon cradled the feather nest. Gifts for earth.

 

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

 

A couple of weeks later, Bob invited Vlad and Adam to his home for Thanksgiving. He was concerned that his foreign team members might miss out on the nationwide celebrations. He needn’t have worried – Sharon had organised all the foreign staff she knew into a party and had found a restaurant that would open and provide them with a traditional meal. But Vlad and Adam felt obliged to accept their leader’s invitation.

 

Martha had cooked a perfect meal. She was unable to understand why her husband and his colleagues were less than enthusiastic about turkey, and why, when they had eaten so frugally during the first course, the young men claimed to have no appetite left for pumpkin pie. But they thanked her very sincerely, helped to clear away and left at a reasonable time, giving her the rest of the evening with her husband so she had no complaints.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Vlad and Adam were home and together.

 

‘Thanksgiving.’ Vlad rolled the word round his mouth. ‘Am thankful for you, English. Whatever is happen next year, am thankful for you.’

 

Adam just kissed him and pulled him into the bedroom. He didn’t want to know about premonitions and possibilities, He just wanted his Russian around him, inside him and with him all night; their very own thanksgiving ceremony.

 

 


	28. Resolution

&lt;!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } A:link { so-language: zxx } --&gt;

**SGX 27 Giving Thanks**

 

The turkey gobbled.. Maybe that was the only sound a turkey throat could produce. A couple of white birds, possibly geese or the equivalent, honked to each other and rushed off. Under different circumstances it could have been amusing to watch them waddle quickly away.

 

They soon returned, carrying between them a basket woven crudely from some broad leaved grass, and put it in front of the turkey. He peered into it and then pushed it with his beak towards the visitors. It contained some kind of grain.

 

‘Dinner time again,’ Sharon muttered. The others didn’t answer but they all got out their rations. Better to offend the turkey by refusing the offering than die of some kind of food poisoning a long way from home. When they got out their water canteens and Adam started to share his with Vlad, a starling flew down and returned Vlad’s own flask. He hesitated. Then he decided that water was water. The planet had breathable air and apparently earth type plants and birds. They would have to be cautious about food but the water should be safe. Assuming they hadn’t simply returned his original earth water. He thought not. This water smelled fresh and pure, unlike the filtered denatured liquid they carried with them. Adam reached out a warning hand as Vlad drank then realised he was too late. Whatever the flask contained, Vlad now contained it too. He would just have to hope.

 

The birds removed the grain basket and stared at their guests, or prisoners. They seemed puzzled, as if they didn’t know what to do with these visitors who wouldn’t eat with them. Then the turkey appeared to shrug and all the birds settled, sitting on the ground, simply watching the team eat. Although he knew that the chicken flavoured rice dish in his plastic container had never been anywhere near a real chicken, Adam felt obscurely guilty and could see Ron and Sharon shared his feelings. Vlad and Bob ate stoically, apparently unconcerned.

 

Then a large hawk of some kind swooped and a wren near Sharon was suddenly limp in its talons. It didn’t fly off with its prey as an earth hawk would have done, but laid it at the feet of the turkey, who, to their amazement, began to eat. So much for the likeness to earth birds. It went so far and no further. And Adam’s guilt over the ersatz chicken disappeared at once.

 

When they had eaten, the turkey beckoned with his head, his wattles swinging. Curious rather than alarmed, they followed him beyond the small copse and found themselves looking at a low sandstone cliff or wall. It was probably natural in origin, but only in origin. The entire length of the wall had been carved with pictures.

 

The birds stood back and let them look at their leisure. It was, apparently, a history. A kind of Bayeux Tapestry in stone, Adam thought, hysteria threatening to take over his already stressed mind. Vlad seemed to realise how his lover was reacting and steadied him with an arm round his shoulders, careless of their companions. Adam was grateful and leaned in close. There were altogether too many birds.

 

 

The pictures showed a slow social development. The first drawings were of birds in earth style nests and groupings. Gradually, the groupings changed so that geese mixed with swans, wrens with parrots and so on. There were always small sacrifices but no wholesale slaughter. Apparently the little birds accepted the slight risk of death in exchange for the general social benefits. At least, that was how the travellers read it. Future investigators might find greater insights.

 

The birds seemed to have reached a level roughly equivalent to the first hunter gatherer tribes on earth. They harvested wild grains and fruits, stored them against seasonal weather changes, and took part in hunting expeditions, bringing down animals that looked like rats or squirrels. There was no attempt to farm in any meaningful way, though patches of grain had sprung up in places where the gatherers had dropped or spilled their cargo. The basket weaving must be an extension of nest building. Some of the birds in the carvings were seen offering one of their eggs to bigger birds. A protection racket? Or an agreed means of controlling predation? 

 

Then Sharon gasped. She had reached a section of carvings that showed humanoid visitors. From the addition of the gate, and the ships drawn in the background it was probable the ‘humans’ were Goa’uld. A few scenes showed them trying to mine something and perhaps trying to coerce the birds into helping. The pictures were not clear, to non-avian intelligence. At any rate, the birds had not liked them. Or perhaps had liked them too much. Liked their symbiotes. A scene showed the birds holding down the Goa’uld and pecking at their chests, removing and swallowing the worms they found. No surprises then, about the abandoned Stargate. Any survivors must have decided that whatever this planet held was not worth the risk.

 

The turkey noticed their interest and stepped close to Ron. He sniffed and shook his head, wattles swinging again. Then he tapped the picture with a leathery hand and sniffed again, this time in unconcealed disgust. He hurried them past the next few scenes and bent to pick up a stone lying near the wall. It was a flint, almost certainly brought from a distance, and deliberately flaked or otherwise sharpened.

Carefully, looking frequently at his guests, he drew them.

 

On the stone, they saw themselves emerge from the gate, collect samples, arrive at the copse and then at the wall.

 

The turkey, and his goose guards, or whatever they were, looked expectantly at them, and gobbled. He offered the flint to Bob and then the geese used their large webbed feet to clear a patch of flat stone below the wall.

 

Bob bit his lip. Skill as a pavement artist had never been written into the job specifications. A quick interrogation suggested Vlad as their most likely artist. He did his best, showing them leaving SGC and travelling through the gate, He showed them travelling back and the scientists investigating the leaves they took. He drew shipments of grain (depicted as brimming baskets), given in exchange for more leaves. He showed, or tried to show, ill people being made well by ingesting the leaves, a rather brief version of what would actually happen, to be sure but nonetheless true. And most important he sketched the Goa’uld and his people’s fight to keep them away from their own planet and others. 

 

A rapid gobbling and chirping and suddenly they had a basket of mixed leaves, presented by one of the geese, a couple of blackbirds looking anxious and hopeful in the background. It was amazing how quickly they had come to recognise expressions on bird faces.

 

Bob was trying his radio again, with no results, and looking at his watch. He was frowning and told the others they were going to have to hope SG1 weren’t the rescue team. Teal’c would not fare well here. But neither would any team that came in shooting first and asking questions later.

 

Vlad hastily scribbled a picture that should let the turkey know what was in store and his art must have been adequate. A gobble set off a cacophony of calls, fading into the distance. Within minutes four huge condors appeared, holding a basket between them. Some gestures and sounds suggested that this was transport to the gate. The trouble was, there was only room for two. Bob had no intention of leaving without the others, and so the rest of them drew straws. Pebbles, rather, picked for their sizes. Adam and Vlad were to go to the gate – by air.

 

Before they set off the turkey detained them with a peremptory wing gesture. A couple of finches flew to them and for a dreadful moment they thought they were to be attacked after all. But it seemed the birds wanted some of their hair. Once they had a sample of each they wove it so rapidly that their beaks and fingers blurred. The result was a ribbon, short and striped, a bit like the ribbons worn by military medal holders back on earth. It was carefully hung on a vine chain and lowered round the turkey’s neck. Then an exquisite nest, threaded with multicoloured feathers was presented to the team. Sharon accepted it, with a murmur of delight that seemed to satisfy their hosts. The ceremony, if that was what it was, ended when one of the condors stamped his foot; it was time for Adam and Vlad to go. 

 

As soon as they were settled in the basket the eagles took to the air. Vertical take off. High speed. Adam felt his stomach try to stay on the ground and grabbed Vlad in a momentary panic. Vlad, more used to strange flight manoeuvres, just held him tightly. After a few minutes the Russian felt able to peer over the side. The countryside was speeding below them. He considered telling Adam to look at the view then thought better of it. Nausea in a small open basket at this speed would be unpleasant. He stroked Adam’s forehead and tried to ignore his own nerves about the inevitable landing. He suspected it would be rough.

 

It was, but it was bearable, and once they had stopped, Adam’s face turned from chalk white to merely pale and they stepped out near the Stargate. Just in time. SG1 were coming through and Vlad had to shout to make them understand that they were OK, that the birds were strange rather than hostile and that Teal’c must turn back. At once. Sam, too, might be at risk, if the birds smelled her Tok’ra links.

 

So Jack waved his team back to the safety of the gate threshold and allowed Vlad to bring him up to date. By the time he was thoroughly acquainted with the facts another basket arrived, this time with all the other three on board. Sharon and Ron looked about as sick as Adam but Somerfield was euphoric about the ride, calming down when he saw O’Neill but still grinning like a child at a fair.The condors who had brought them all stood around silent; Jack got a mild taste of how SGX had felt when they first arrived. 

 

Only a mild one, because they were ready to leave. They bowed to their carriers and stepped up to the gate. Others would come. The planet would bear investigation and the birds would probably help. As well as his pack, Adam carried the basket of leaves. Sharon cradled the feather nest. Gifts for earth.

 

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

 

A couple of weeks later, Bob invited Vlad and Adam to his home for Thanksgiving. He was concerned that his foreign team members might miss out on the nationwide celebrations. He needn’t have worried – Sharon had organised all the foreign staff she knew into a party and had found a restaurant that would open and provide them with a traditional meal. But Vlad and Adam felt obliged to accept their leader’s invitation.

 

Martha had cooked a perfect meal. She was unable to understand why her husband and his colleagues were less than enthusiastic about turkey, and why, when they had eaten so frugally during the first course, the young men claimed to have no appetite left for pumpkin pie. But they thanked her very sincerely, helped to clear away and left at a reasonable time, giving her the rest of the evening with her husband so she had no complaints.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Vlad and Adam were home and together.

 

‘Thanksgiving.’ Vlad rolled the word round his mouth. ‘Am thankful for you, English. Whatever is happen next year, am thankful for you.’

 

Adam just kissed him and pulled him into the bedroom. He didn’t want to know about premonitions and possibilities, He just wanted his Russian around him, inside him and with him all night; their very own thanksgiving ceremony.

 

 


	29. Epilogue

&lt;!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --&gt;

 

**SGX 29 Epilogue**

 

 

New Year came and went. Adam persuaded Teal’c, as the darkest man he knew, to act as ‘first footer’ over the threshold of his flat, bringing good luck in the form of coal and bread. If Teal’c was bemused by the role thrust on him he didn’t say so, but he did question Adam closely about the customs of his country. Adam also insisted on toasting the New Year in scotch, not vodka, and turned up his nose at American whiskey. He initiated the Russians into the pleasures of singing Auld Lang Syne and enjoyed his Hogmanay celebrations almost as much as if he’d been in Newcastle. Probably more so, because Newcastle was, to the best of his knowledge, short of Russians who would hug him and kiss him and wish him a Happy New Year in Russian which he half understood and wholly appreciated.

 

January saw everything back to normal. Adam and Teal’c spent time sparring with their staffs. Niki got hopelessly drunk at least once a week. The team had missions and paperwork and more paperwork. Jonas left, to nobody’s disappointment. And the winter rolled on towards spring.

 

It was early February when Vlad’s orders came through. He had been in America for just over a year and someone thought it was time he returned to Russia. So his papers recalled him to Moscow, en route for some other part of his country.

 

Adam was devastated.

 

Knowing something would probably happen and having it actually happen were two very different things. He tried to show a brave face, and to remember Vlad’s words from Christmas, but it was hard. Especially as Vlad was philosophical about it.

 

‘English, I having six month of you that I am not having if not here. Is good,’ was all he would say. When his bags were packed Adam felt the flat was too empty to tolerate. He flung himself out to walk in the cold streets for an hour or more while he pulled himself together. When he got back, Vlad was nursing a glass of vodka and the bear that had contained his liquor supply in the infirmary at the start of their relationship. He held it out to Adam.

 

‘I thinking he does not liking barracks, Adam,’ he said. Then as Adam snatched the bear, burying his face in its fur, Vlad grabbed him and made love to him one last time.

 

‘Love you, Adam,’ he whispered and the use of his first name rather than a nickname or endearment brought home to both of them that this really was the end.

 

They said their goodbyes in the flat. Vlad would be picked up with some of the other Russians, who were returning home, from the base, and the team would be there to see him off but that would be an official farewell without room for private emotions. And the airport departure would be a military affair.

 

Adam watched as the jeep drove out of sight, taking his lover out of his life. They would write, or at least email, but it was unlikely that they would meet again for a long time. He steeled himself to remain calm in front of his colleagues. Sharon and Bob were watching him with concern but to their relief he walked back to his computers with no outward sign of strain.

 

Jack looked into his office later. Commiserated, even though his eyes said, ‘I told you so.’ Talked to him about how hard he was finding life with a returned Daniel and his new partner, Paul. Nobody else understood and he unburdened himself a little to the Englishman. He was staying with Paul, he said. Less chance of ascension or other nasty surprises. Less excitement, perhaps, but a smoother life. He hoped Daniel would find someone else. It was probably too early to hope the same for Adam. 

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

And so February wore on until Valentine’s Day. Adam knew Americans celebrated it but wasn’t certain about Russians. Niki didn’t seem too sure. He was still working at the base and was a fairly frequent caller at the flat with offers of vodka or a shoulder to cry on. So far, Adam hadn’t cried. Not when anyone else was around. 

 

So February 14 th brought no cards and Adam left for work in a sombre mood. His desk was full of requests for computer help, and he was aware that SGX would be going off-world later in the week. In the middle of the morning someone brought him an artefact that they thought might have a Latin inscription. It wasn’t Latin or even anything related and Adam was irritated as he went to the commissary for coffee. 

 

He found himself grumbling about the artefact, and the idiocy of whoever had brought it, to Sharon and whoever else would listen. Then a deep voice behind him suggested that maybe, just maybe, its owner could help.

 

‘Artefacts and languages are my special preserve, after all,’ the voice went on, amused and confident.

 

Adam turned and found himself looking up at impossible eyes, eyes someone could drown in, dark hair that was trying to curl, and lips that looked – well, if they had belonged to a woman, bee-stung might have been an appropriate description. As it was, they belonged to at least six feet of very masculine good looks. Who on earth …?

 

It was Sharon who realised.

‘Hey, you two haven’t come across each other yet, have you?’ she said.

‘Adam Fenwick, meet Daniel Jackson.’

 

**FINIS**

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
